


Grimoire of Baqer Hashim

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-07
Updated: 2004-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post war epic, begging the question: What happens when all is said and done...and forgotten?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grimoire of Baqer Hashim

**Author's Note:**

> Cannon compliant through book five-ish.

The Grimoire of Baqer Hashim was donated, along with a translation, to the Ministry Reading Room anonymously. Bound in red leather, parchment 189 pgs with several illustrations done in red and blue inks.

Original language: Sumerian cuneiform.

 

Page One:  
To Name a Thing is to Invoke It

Welcome my successor, my intellectual heir, for such you are that broke the locking spells of this text. I write this in the last days of my empire. My enemies swarm my borders; the side of Light emerges in every new generation of my own people. Easily do I defeat them all, but my once inexhaustible strength has begun to wane. Ancient are the hands that write this text, though they are still as smooth as when I was a boy. In appearance I have not changed for four hundred years, but my spirit grows weary and bored with this immortality.

So I will set down these words, a dozen lifetimes of learning and invention. My death will reflect my life and I will not die alone. This land will I render barren in flames, my whole kingdom will be my funeral pyre. Of all my great works only this text will survive, the powder forged in the largest crucible ever created.

)*(

Drip

Drip  
...drip  
Drip  
The rain dripped down the windowpane, searching for other droplets, joining and then cascading down to the sill. A small leak had formed at one edge and a puddle was forming with all the speed of an oncoming glacier.

Draco observed all this and wondered if it was possible to die of boredom. He turned his contemplation to the potion vial in front of him. Another day, another decision. He could give his mind over to the beast, become a being of pure feeling and with any luck be put down like a dog. Or more likely he would remain locked in this room until someone could brave going in and tranquilizing him. He would only wake once more, lucid, tied to the bed and faced with even more restrictions.

He drank the potion. The puddle had grown half a centimeter in the time it took him to decide.The bed promised its usual delight of complete oblivion, but he ignored it for now. Bending, he scooped up another book and leafed through it idly. There was no hurry for anything any more. It would all keep. Another day. Another moment to breathe through.

Draco's cell (they called it a room, but he knew the truth) was five meters long and seven meters wide. His bed was bolted to the northeast corner under the solitary window, which opened exactly ten centimeters. There was a desk and a chair both of an ugly yellow wood that reeked of pine fresh cut. That's where he sat for every meal. A single shelf held his rotating round of book. The walls were painfully fresh white. The stink of paint still lingered.

He lived for Tuesday mornings when Dr. Vimes attended him. The dullness of his doctor's eyes was easy to ignore when he was so pressed for company. It was an unfortunate side effect of the potion that must be taken to keep Vimes from raping him the moment he got within reaching distance. The first visit, the good doctor had forgone the potion. After all he was a fine middle aged, upstanding straight man facing a thin, afflicted and frail young man who was on his own potion to stop him from seducing anyone in the general facility. It took three dosed nurses to pry Vimes off of Draco that first time. Now Draco had a nice drugged doctor for company.

"No change?" Vimes asked first. Always the first question. They were waiting for the effects to subside, but Draco can still feel the beast pacing under his skin.

"None."

They were grimly silent for a moment and then Vimes cleared his throat. He was a small man, not inclined to make himself appear much bigger. Delicately boned and quick fingered. There was something Asian about him, though his accent painted him native to the British Isles. He seemed to genuinely want to help and had even, in his own way, appeared to think of Draco as a friend. And because there was no one else, Draco was glad of it.

"I brought you a few things to look over." A new stack of books, this time they were mostly reference texts. He started out researching what had happened to him, but was quickly exasperated when no trace of it could be found anywhere. So now, he picked through old novels and outdated research books to pass the time.

"Thank you. How are the Wasps doing?"

Eagerly with a hint of some life in his eyes, Vimes rattled off the latest Quidditch stats. He recounted the penultimate playoff match in detail, including the Seeker's spectacular dive. For a moment, Draco felt free. He could smell the soft grass of the pitch and the feel of the wind in his hair. Being a Seeker wasn't something he missed the way he missed his home or his future. But it was more than he could take to listen to the news of the world that was rebuilding and moving forward without him. Quidditch was different. It was timeless and yet moved enough to retain his interest.

When Vimes had run out of things to say about the sport, he paused.

"Well."

"There's a leak. In the wall." Draco said suddenly, startling himself, then cursed. More and more the conventions of conversation slip away from him. He remembered a time when he always knew just what to say. Now every fool thing he thought bubbled out of his mouth.

Vimes was up and inspecting while Draco tried to steady himself. Then his wand was out and the leak was gone.

"No." He protested weakly.

"What Draco? What's wrong?" Vimes approached him slowly.

"I was watching it. Grow." He knew how inadequate that sounded. For a day it had been something changing, moving. It had been something to do. Vimes looked at him for a long moment and then slowly laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Draco...how much longer can you hold on here?"

It wasn't a question he expected. There was no choice and therefore, no reason to think on it. But now that it had been raised... A time before this rose before him. Haughty and tightly controlled, moving with ease through a world he understood. He had always been a social person. Had always needed constant stimulation.

"As long as I need to." He determined, but he could see Vimes slight shake of the head.

"I have a proposition to make."

"I'm listening."

"We have a patient here." Vimes settled across from him again. "A man about your age. When he arrived here, he was gravely injured and comatose. Now, his physical wounds have all healed. There is no reason for him to still be recessed in his mind, but that is how he remains. So far he has been completely unresponsive. Perhaps, if we bring him in here without the potion..."

Vimes eyed him tentatively, waiting for the explosion.

"Yes. Please. Just...there'll be someone watching?"

The nurse they sent in looked like she didn't need the dose of lust-inhibitor that she swallowed before she entered. A prim matron, she took a seat by the door and actually took out knitting. Vimes followed in after her, pushing a chair that contained Draco's new companion.

"Weasley!"

The other man's eyes were open, but Draco was suddenly sure that he wasn't being seen.

"You know him?" Vimes pursed his lips with a mixture of concern and surprise on his face. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No...no. It's fine." He regarded the wasted body and vacant face. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Well, he doesn't seem to be reacting to...well. You."

It was the first time Draco had been exposed to someone undrugged who hadn't tried to rip off his clothes in six months. The novelty of it made the fact that it was Weasley disappear.

"I'll leave him here for an hour or two. Talk to him. We think he can hear us and sometimes he reacts. I'll get your reactions later."

Vimes left, the nurse knit and Ron stared into space. Tentatively, Draco started to speak.

"So. Weasley. Long time, no see. How are things?" He snorted and Ron stared. "Not that I care. I mean, honestly, we've never exactly been friends. Or friendly...or even polite. So let's talk about me. I'm going completely nutters. I've been locked up in here for six months without the slightest notion of when I'm going to be free. Someone cursed me. Some fucker...they've got no idea who. Could have been you for all I know. How about it Weasley? Did you finally get your revenge on me? Spike my punch...what am I talking about? Whatever did this to me was far more complex than something you could have handled."

The dark brown eyes continued to stare outward, through Draco and into some private world.

"You know, I think you're a better conversationalist like this, Weasley. A very good listener. That's an important quality in a good companion."

He studied the man before him. Dressed simply in loose white pants and shirt, identical to the outfit they kept Draco in. Cheeks hallowed, eyes bagged as if even in a coma he had been suffering sleep deprivation. His hair was lank and brushing the collar of the starched shirt. An unflattering skimpy beard was promising some serious length. The last Draco had heard about him, he'd been fighting at Potter's side and winning. A week later Draco had wound up here and he hadn't much cared about catching up with old classmates.

"It's been a long year." He muttered. Then said it louder because it was rude to talk as if his guest wasn't present. Casting about for something to do, he wound up taking up a book. Not one of his research books, but a wizarding classic: Fortune in Suffering. Draco found it heavy handed with the metaphors and overly moralistic, so he changed it as he read. Not like Weasley would ever know the difference.

He was right in the middle of describing the main character, a lost waif of a girl, in the middle of setting her pretty cottage on fire and running off to join a cult when Vimes entered. As if on cue, the nurse rose, put away her knitting and filed out.

"All right?" Vimes asked, moving to behind Weasley's wheelchair.

"Why hasn't anyone cut his hair? Or shaved him for that matter. "

"Um. I'm not sure. I can find out for you."

"Good."

"I'll bring him back in a few days."

Three days passed in solitude like all the others. Meals appearing when he grew hungry, disappearing when he was full. The sky darkened, brightened. He was on the north face of the hospital, so neither sunrise nor set graced his window. On the third day, the nurse entered and Vimes came in with the wheelchair. He nearly sobbed in relief.

Instead he nodded more to himself than to his guests and moved his chair to sit closer.

"It seems that the nurses have attempted to cut Mr. Weasley's hair before." Vimes started right in as he entered. "But he cannot stand to have a wand near him. All the spells for his medical work have been potion based or done while he was asleep."

"I thought he was dead to the world?"

"So did I. Though he does occasionally mutter to himself but never to anybody present." Tight annoyance, a first from the benevolent Dr. Vimes. At being left out of the loop? "Whenever a wand is brought near him he becomes violent, lashes out and attempts break it if he can. He hasn't succeeded so far. I would suspect I would have heard about it if he had."

"So, Weasley, " Draco leaned forward expecting the face that looked unchanged from three days prior, "you're alive in there after all."

"Yes, well. That makes me more inclined to continue these sessions. I think it might be a real help for him to have someone speaking to him regularly. His family comes in and out..."

"I'll bet."

"But they're very careful with him. About what they say."

"And you know that I won't be?"

"Draco, I have had a chance to talk to you and, as much as I can in our time together, get to know you. You are rarely reverent, never careful of others' feelings." It was meant to be a compliment or something innocuous. Once he could have, would have taken it that way. Even if it hadn't been meant that way.

Now he winced and wondered what type of person he would become if he remained locked in here much longer.

"Scissors, razor and lather." He said instead of a hundred biting retorts. "The family barber used to use them. I could manage something with them. "

Vimes looked at him oddly, glanced over at the knitting nurse, who nodded once, then went out frowning. He returned nearly a half hour later with the requested items, halting Draco mid-sentence in reading another voluminous child's story.

"Be careful." He warned and retreated to the door, leaving the gorgeous silver-laced objects and a basin of water in his wake.

He took up the razor and did a few practice sweeps in the air. He actually had no doubts about his ability to do the job, but wondered what his father would say if he walked in on this scene. Shaking away the image that came attached with more unpleasant memories than he was capable of dealing with at the moment, he turned on the weasel.

)*(

Page 34:

To Summon Great Beauty

This spell brought to me seven of my wives and twenty concubines, each more beautiful than the last. The ritual leading up to the casting was set into place with the death of my first wife, whose blood enhanced it. Beauty is a great weapon, many good men will be undone by its power and more will fall for tricks masked by it. One of my rivals even now labors in my kitchens, married to a wench summoned by this spell with no more designs on my seat.

The ritual starts at dawn, it is helpful if it is the night after the full moon, but not necessary.

)*(

It was another quiet day. Draco began to wonder if there would ever be another kind. It helped having Weasley there, even if all he did was breathe and look glassily through Draco for a few hours. Occasionally, he would stir and mutter angrily. Draco strained to catch the words with little avail. His hand ached for his wand and the amplifying spells it would provide. He missed the stick of wood like he would have missed a limb. Too risky to leave him and the beast with such power. So instead of trying to figure him out, Draco read to him, not really sure what else to do, and it kept his voice from being a lost cause.

"...and that's why you don't use vital organs in potions unless you're smarter than your average fifth year. Which you knew already." Draco paused. "How did Potter manage to get it to explode anyway? He never was terribly bright. "

"Shut up." The nasty croak sent both the nurse and Draco to their feet.

"You in there Weasley?" But the expression remained the same. "So that's it? Telling me to close my gob is all you could manage?"

Silence reigned for a long second and the usual mutterings kicked up again, only to trickle off.

"Is that it, Weasley? Is this about Potter?"

A vague snarl came from Ron's throat, but when his eyes flickered it was to some place beyond Draco. Unnerved, Draco followed the sightless gaze, perplexed. No one there, but the tiny hairs on Draco's arms stood up until he was shivering. He'd noticed this occasional discomfort at Ron's visits, but chalked it up to the presence of two people breaking his isolation.

"What happened, Weasley? What's got you all spooked?" He placed a hand on Ron's arm and the red head's eyes flickered back to their usual dead ahead stare.

After another long minute of silence, he turned back to the book and read on in a more somber voice. When Vimes came to collect nurse and weasel, Draco stopped him.

"I want to know...I want to know what happened."

"About what?"

"Tell me. About the war."

Vimes took a long evaluative look at him. Draco glared back. Finally, he nodded once and wheeled Ron out.

"I'll bring in everything tomorrow."

Everything was a large stack of newspaper clippings. Vimes left them on the table. With a shuddering sigh, Draco began steadily to work through the articles. The first year was all familiar to him, he was working on Voldemort's side then so he was far more in the know than any Light side newspaper. It was only after he had retreated to the manor, withdrawing from the war that those events became removed from him. Battles were fought, won and lost while he wiled away the hours going from room to room, avoiding his father. Father wasn't pleased with his retraction, but was far too busy to be bothered with him. Mother must have been there, but he managed to avoid her, using the manor's size and lands to play a colossal pointless game of hide and go seek.

When he tried to concentrate on the memories of the manor of that time, they blurred together. Just endless silent days of meandering through corridors, though they were tinged with a sort of contentment. He could not pick out a single day from the rest, nor remember an exact moment. Concentrating on it gave him a headache so he moved on.

Most of the articles that followed had been censored. It wasn't difficult to determine that this was for his eyes. He made a note to ask Vimes, running a troubled finger over the cut out bits, wondering just who and what fell into the missing words, paragraphs and doubtless whole articles that hadn't been included. There were places where he could practically see the missing letters, names that he would doubtless know, Father among them.

Even with the censoring, the newspapers filled in the gaps. Here was the turning battle, there was Granger leading a key assault, there was Weasley hale and whole alongside her, here were the Hogwarts teachers and the Aurors fighting side by side. There was the Final Battle in wild, frantic pictures. And finally, there was Harry fighting Voldemort. Voldemort falling, eyes going dull, body wracked with his dying throes with Harry triumphant. The next article was only a question: What Happened to Harry Potter? The great hero had been found mutilated nearly beyond recognition following the battle, though none could say what happened to him.

The articles were all anticlimactic after that. Rebuilding and funerals with statements from a variety of Light side heroes. Father was nowhere on the rolls of the dead, in fact there were no articles on the clean up of the Death Eaters at all.

Everyone wanted to know what happened to Potter, it seemed destined to be a burning question for the ages. Draco couldn't help but wonder what he would have penned if he had fought on the front lines. Only the knowledge that it was too late to turn had kept him from skulking over to the Light using information to save his neck and earn him a rank among the other Dark traitors. He could sense the turning of the tides and would have much rather lived for another day free than be standing by his principles in jail. Too bad someone had taken care of it for him.

The accounts were horrifying in a drab, grey sort of way. A great bulk of the terror had come from waiting and anticipation of the actual battles, whose casualties stayed low and fatalities even lower. It had been clear from fairly early on that this was a war the Dark Lord could not win. From then on it was a matter of simply pressing forward.

When he finished reading, Draco sat back and stared at his changed hands, elongated digits and the slightly sharp, charred looking nails. The pale skin around them was mottled with dark patches that extended a little past his wrist. The beast was never entirely subdued, raging and rattling the cage bars of its prison. He wondered if he was considered a casualty of war, even if standing on the wrong side of the line.

"Do you have any questions for me?" Vimes returned quietly, making a move to take the articles away.

It was a small gesture; even good of him to check, but it reminded Draco once more that his every move was being monitored by various means. His question about censoring would meet only with evasive answers and how was he to know it wasn't for the best anyway?

"Do the Weasleys know you're keeping their son here to get information out of him?"

"Excuse me?"

"I may have been cooped up in this room for too long, but I haven't lost my common sense. The Weasleys are a large, notoriously tenderhearted family. I find it hard to believe that they just leave their catatonic son in a ward to be looked after by nurses. Either they know or someone is feeding them a line."

"I made a mistake showing this to you." Vimes sighed. "I should have known they'd get you overly excited."

"I'll get excited if I damn well please! Weasley was the last one to see Potter alive; they keep alluding to it in all those stories. People want to know why Potter wound up dead, ergo it is perfectly plausible that he would be kept under lock and key while professionals attempted to get the information from him. Humanely, of course. They would never ever be reduced to the idea of exposing him to a lusting beast to excite his dormant mind." Draco snarled. "Medi-wizards are supposed to take an oath, are they not? 'Do no harm.'"

"Shut up." Vimes hissed, grabbing Draco's upper arm with surprising force. "Listen to me, boy. I am on your side and his, whether you believe it or not. Keep you calm and your tongue."

He released him as suddenly as he had grasped him.

"My apologies, Draco. I don't know what came over me. Now, is there anything else you'd like to read today?"

Bewildered, but recognizing a good game face when he saw one, Draco neutrally replied and watched Vimes exit. Tapping long fingernails against the tabletop, he tried to put the fractured puzzle into some semblance of order.

)*(

Page 56

To Double Your Self

In order to keep power, it is important not only to have a phalanx of excellent, loyal spies, but also to be in a position to overhear things yourself. This spell allows me to inhabit a second or even third body while maintaining my original one. Roaming in these alternate bodies, I have overheard many things and saved myself the trouble of dealing with things before they grew larger than was worthwhile.

)*(

"Without a doubt, that day was the harshest winter to ever beset the small town of Primrose..." He trailed off as Weasley began to mutter again.

The last several visits had Draco paying close attention to these rambles and what appeared to trigger them. Any mention of Potter was a guarantee; obvious wand-like motions were also another sure agitator. Sometimes mentions of his family would cause facial tics, but little muttering. And other times, just as before, it seemed that nothing set them at all. Draco kept a list of the things he could make out.

Straining, he put a tic next to 'help' and 'shut up', then added 'trapped' to the list. The list was fairly disturbing. Still, he wasn't sure if he should mention it to Vimes. Since the incident two weeks ago, Draco had been reluctant to talk about anything of importance with the man though neither of them made any mention of the incident or acted any differently. They were being monitored, or at least Vimes was paranoid enough to think they were. So he made his little lists and thought.

"Should I go on, Weasley? Or does your invisible friend have anything to say about it?"

A mutter and a sharp bark that could have been laughter. Eyebrow raised, Draco noted this down. He set down his quill and took up the book again.

"The good people of the tiny village had gathered for the yearly sacrifice to their god. If it were done correctly, the weather would not deal with them so harshly. Their god was a mammoth fellow with two of everything, including heads. The two heads faced away from each other and never knew what the other was doing..."

The weasel started to cough and whine again, clearly agitated. Draco read over the passage again curiously.

"Not possible...." He shook his head and stared at the unfocused eyes that looked back. "Are you in there Potter?"

"Yessssss...." The one syllable seemed torn from thin lips. Before Draco could even think of a reply, the nurse had bolted out of her chair and returned mere moments later with Vimes.

"Tell him what just happened." She demanded and Draco was surprised to find her voice was actually quite pleasant, jarring with her harsh features.

"I think Potter is inside Weasley."

"That's preposterous!" But even as he protested, Vimes turned inward, thinking it over. "How would that work..."

"Death Eater isn't just a name someone pulled out of a hat." Draco took a step back away from Vimes. "There is a very ancient set of spells, strong spells. You consume the...essence of someone at the point of death and you can fuel your own magic off of them."

"And the Death Eaters could do this?"

"If Potter had gotten his hands on that information, then he might have worked with his cronies to set up a sort of bequeathing system for his power in case of his death. The information seemed to be something he had always known, integral, but foreign at the same time, words that weren't a part of him poured forth. Weasley or Granger would be the natural choices for something like that. The magic requires a trinity. One to die, one to receive and one to watch over the transfer. The receiver would be too overwhelmed to finish the spells necessary. That seems like the type of thing Potter and his gang would be too stupid to realize. Chances are Weasley tried to manage by himself and now is stuck halfway through the process."

"Amazing." Vimes paused. "I was not aware that you were close enough to Voldemort to be privy to this sort of detail."

Draco paused, trying to remember when he might have learned such highly classified information. He frowned, but like the memories of the manor, this one eluded him. It was impossible that he couldn't remember something as integral as learning Death Eater's rituals. His Marking, his first meeting...all of those were clear to him. But learning this...

"Draco, how can we release Mr. Potter?"

"Right now, he's just a ghost trapped in Weasley's mind. The usual exorcisms should work." He replied absently, trying to track down the memory. He felt dizzy and more than a little sick to his stomach.

"Nurse, get medi-wizards Adams and Banks." The nurse's eyes widened and she hurried away. Once he was sure he was gone, he turned back to Draco. "Listen to me, carefully."

"What?" Draco turned his attention back outward and was relieved that his mind and stomach cleared.

"We will perform this exorcism in a room next to yours. I think it might be important that you be as present as you can in these proceedings." Vimes tapped the wall with his wand, speaking softly and rendering it invisible. The room next to his was identical, but empty. "You will hear everything and be able to speak to us, but I advise you to keep silent."

"You're just going to take my word? Just like that?" Draco stared at him. "I'm not a medi-wizard. Not to mention, I'm a Slytherin Death Eater, what makes you think I wouldn't lie?"

"I know the truth when I hear it." The ironic twisted smile made Draco's eyes narrow.

"As soon as this is over, you are telling me what the hell is going on here. I'm sick of being kept in the dark and sedated."

"I cannot answer your questions."

Just as Draco was about to protest, two older men entered the room next door. Presumably Adams and Banks. They were both tall, one bent and grey haired, the other with perfect posture with thick white locks. Both had calculating and cool looks that reminded Draco of his father. Vimes wheeled Weasley out and closed the door behind him.

Alone, Draco gazed into the next room and watched the drama unfold before him.

"So it has given us useful information at last." The bent one said as he wrote something down on a clipboard. "About time."

"You are most fortunate, Vimes." The white haired one said through gritted teeth. "Hard to believe you finally had success when the Experiment 046's termination was scheduled for a week from now."

"I had asked for several extensions. It was a slow and delicate process, Adams." The cold clipped tone from the usually warm man chilled Draco.

The white haired one, Adams and the grey one, Banks, studied Weasley.

"An exorcism is all that is required?" Banks frowned. "Surely with magic this dark, something stronger will be necessary."

"We must begin with what we know. If something stronger is needed then we will use it."

It will work, Draco thought dimly, unsure of the source of his certainty.

The three men spoke briefly about another 'Experiment' while they waited for someone else to arrive. As far as Draco could tell, this one had been turned into some sort of human conduit of electric currents. It too was discussed as about to be 'terminated'. The blood pounded in Draco's ears. He had long suspected that this was some kind of holding pen until they could ship him off to Azkaban. But it seemed there was something more sinister going on.

Vimes glanced back at him while Adams and Banks bickered. Vimes had said he was on his and Weasley's side. Against who? Adams and Banks, perhaps? Was this his way of tipping the hand? And if so, how did Weasley work into it? Surely the Weasleys would have sprung their son from such a prison if they even so much as suspected something like this. And how did he and Weasley come to be on the same side of anything?

Questions, questions and no one to answer them. It was only his hope that they would slip something else out that kept him from going into a screaming rage. As he suppressed his anger, he found himself oddly pleased to find it returned at all. The fear and upset were familiar friends, who had long been missing. Not for the first time, he wondered what type of sedative they were using on him and filed it away with his other questions.

The nurse entered with a heavy ominous looking book. Banks took it gravely and carefully began to chant from a marked passage. It was one of the stronger spells of exorcism and Draco watched, apprehensively, as Weasley began to twitch violently. The deeper into the magic the spell dug, the harder Weasley thrashed and finally began to howl. Vimes and Adams watched dispassionately as Weasley dug his fingers into his own palms and drew blood.

A vague shape began to take form in the air. A humanoid locked in chains to the thrashing body of the weasel. Slowly, it seemed to wake and struggled to attain a form. The familiar messy hair took shape first, then the face and chained body.

"Hello, Potter." Draco said softly, too confused to feel triumph over being right. The ghostly form turned to him, snapping its chains in time to Banks chants. Locking eyes, Potter broke chain after chain until he was free from the host body that he had been trapped in for seven long months.

"Harry..." Weasley whimpered, his eyes clear and he too struggled now, against the chair that he had spent so many months in. The call of his name snapped the savior's attention back to his best friend and he moved to his side. Silently, the ghost ran a hand over his face, frowning as the contact failed to be made.

Adams and Banks had ugly smiles on their faces and Banks paged through another text.

"Accio spirit bottle!" He called.

Potter let out a low, malicious laugh, his first ghostly noise.

"Sorry my dear friends, but I have other plans." A contorted bottle sailed through the door just as Harry wheeled back and through the wall, right to Draco's side. Goosebumps rose with the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Thanks, Malfoy. I was getting cramped."

"Potter..what..."

"There's no time now. Remember that you owe me sixteen galleons, Malfoy, and prepare to cough it up when the time comes." The childish smile Malfoy always associated with Potter graced his barely visible lips.

"I don't..." But it was too late. The ghost had dispelled quickly as it came.

"Where am I? Who the fuck are you people and why in bloody hell am I in this chair?" The famous Weasley temper flared in the other room. "Why is Draco in that cell?"

"One thing at a time, Mr. Weasley. We just have a few questions, that's all." Banks whole manner changed, solicitous and warm. He looked and sounded like someone everyone could trust.

Weasley wasn't buying it for an instant. He must have borrowed some of Potter's limited brains while they were enmeshed together.

"Draco!" He called desperately as he tried to struggle up, but long atrophied muscles held him back. "Draco, are you all right? What have they done to you!?"

"Come now, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy needs his rest." Adams said softly and pointed his wand at the wall, it turned sharply opaque again.

"No!" Draco pounded uselessly on the wall.

Answers, he just wanted some answers. Weasley was worried about him, called him by his first name. He tried desperately to recall why this would be so, but his mind fought him. Sick, frustrated and feeling more alone than he had thought possible, Draco sank to the floor and spent a long time just staring at the wall.

)*(

Page 67

To Twist Bone

With an elegant twist of the wand, the relatively simply bone breaking spell becomes much more insidious. Perfect for interrogation, the movement of the bone within flesh causes extensive internal bleeding and causes visible distortion in the flesh. Once the information is obtained, these men make excellent gifts to their lords as examples. Bloodless, but horrifying corpses send messages that are undoubtedly clear.

)*(

"It is so good to have you home!"

Molly looked like she was about to cry and Ron tried not to scream. No one was giving him answers. Just four hours ago the long vast nightmare of being trapped in one body with Harry had finally given way. Months of being locked his own mind, powerless and confused, had ceased as abruptly as it had begun, leaving him alone in a strange room with three men who gave him a major case of the creeps.

And his Draco, his proud, arrogant Draco had been so close, looking impossibly alive, but broken and strange. His hands had been odd, the air around him tinged a sick green. And then the vision was gone as quickly as it came.

"Mum, where was I? What was that place?"

"It's the high security Veteran's Wing of St. Mungo's." He father supplied. "While you were...away, there were several threats on your life. They had to move you."

The long hallway they had wheeled him down was full of see-through rooms though the three occupants Ron had seen obviously couldn't see out. The rest of the rooms were empty and the one they wheeled him into was identical to the others.

"Just a few brief questions, Mr. Weasley." Banks had patted him jovially on the arm. Adams took out his wand and a vial of the foul liquid Ron knew to be Veritaserum. He had steeled himself for a brutal interrogation when the door to his cell was forced open.

"We came as soon as we heard!" The two venerable red heads rushed through to his side.

"My baby, my precious baby." Molly stroked his hair as tears fell onto his forehead. He had never been happier to see her. Adams and Banks looked thoroughly confused and frustrated. Vimes was unreadable, but Ron could have sworn he saw a flicker of satisfaction.

"Thank you so much for all your hard work." Arthur hugged each of the three men in turn. "You have been wonderful, absolutely wonderful."

"He is not completely healed, of course." Banks started immediately, sensing his slipping grip on his patient. "It is advisable for him to remain here and regain his strength."

"Oh, we know the road to recovery will be long, but my Molly's nursed the boys through everything and made quite a field medic in her own day. We want to take him home."

"A most admirable sentiment, Mr. Weasley, but it really would be better if we..."

"We're taking him home." Arthur insisted. "It's all a matter of letting him heal and get his strength back now. No one else knows he's well, we've prepared the Burrow with wards for months while we waited. The threat to him is minimal and I know he'll recover better in his own home."

"Mr. Weasley is Ronald's guardian." Vimes reminded his colleagues. "Until such a time that he his found once more able to care for himself."

"I still say it's ridiculous. The boy needs to heal." Banks fumed, but already he knew he had lost the battle.

An hour later, with Molly constantly at his side filling him in on the comings and goings of the family for the last seven months and hushing any attempt at a question, they were portkeying back to his own familiar room. Apparently Ginny had gone with Bill when their older brother had returned to Egypt. He'd helped her through some connections and landed her a cushy job in Gringott's managing the accounts of several Quidditch teams. Likewise, Charlie had taken Fred back with him to Romania. Molly sounded hopeful as she outlined the interest Fred had taken in the dragons and spent much of his time with the great beasts. George had died well before the war had ended and Ron never believed Fred would fully recover. Of course, she said not a word about Percy. He had never come home, disappearing completely during the war until they'd all forgotten about him out of necessity.

With his mother determined to catch him up he firmly fought his own fatigue to get the answers he wanted.

"It looked like a prison."

"Those held there are in unusual positions. They had to be moved because of security risks and have not been healed after a long period of time. Most of them are dangerous to themselves and others." It sounded like a line to Ron, something his parents had been fed, probably multiple times.

"They were going to question me with Veritaserum."

"Oh, dear." Molly sat down on the twin bed. "The doctors did say you might be a bit paranoid."

"Paranoid? Mum, they were about to dose me when you walked in! Dad, you have to believe me!"

"You haven't been well for a long time, Ron."

Seven months. Seven long, lost months from the moment on the battlefield when he had been too fast, too impatient. When Harry had pushed him to act before they were ready.

"I was unconscious, not crazy."

"Of course you're not crazy! But you have been away for a long time, dear." Molly soothed. "Whenever we visited you, you were always muttering about being trapped and helpless. The medi-wizards seem to think that whatever you were dreaming about will probably carry over into reality for some time. You were living in a dream world for so long that it might be hard to distinguish it from reality."

"They tried to capture Harry." Ron insisted. "They separated us and they were going to put him in a spirit bottle. Draco was watching!"

Molly and Arthur exchanged worried, sad looks.

"Harry and Draco are dead, darling." Molly reminded him. "I know it's hard to accept, but you must believe me."

Tired and bewildered, Ron put a check on his rage, trying to recall the soothing exercises Hermione had forced him to learn. When he felt in control of himself again, he decided that he couldn't press the matter without looking like he was completely barmy.

"I'm tired now." He said softly. "May I go to sleep?"

"Oh, of course, dear!"

Gently, his parents levitated him and tucked him in. It only added to the surreal nature of the whole day, so he accepted it and caved to the blackness in the back of his mind. Maybe things would make more sense in the morning. He found his memory of the past months already fading and he was happy to let them go.

"Wake up! Come on, Ron. Ron! You're late for Transfigurations!"

He jerked up, eyes wide and reaching for his wand. Or at least he tried, but his arms were weak and he collapsed back before he could. Harry's ghost was sitting on his chest with a mixture of sadness and urgency in his eyes.

"Harry?"

"Been a rough few months, hasn't it?"

"Master of the understatement. What's been going on?"

"That's what I've been trying to find out, but it's hard getting used to this non-corporeal stuff. I popped over to Hogwarts and got some pointers from Nick, but most of them were pretty vague." He pushed ghostly glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "He told me that they think you might have murdered me."

"No wonder my parents got me out of there so quick. They're worried they might send me to Azkaban." Slower this time, he struggled upwards, managing only to break out in a sweat. "Fuck, if they hadn't come in when they had, I'd be there right now."

"I don't think that's what those men had in mind." Harry frowned grimly. "There was something familiar about them. I can't go back there now. They've probably set up spirit bottles to trap whatever goes in and out."

"They have Draco. We thought he was dead, all that time, but they had him, didn't they?"

"I don't know." Harry looked away like he always had when he wanted to hide something: squinty and uncomfortable.

"Harry." He insisted.

"What do you want me to tell you? Yes, obviously. You were right then. He wasn't dead." Harry looked pained. "If I had known..."

"I should have kept looking for him." The familiar guilt rose. "I knew he wasn't dead, I knew. But there were so many things, we were so close to winning and I looked everywhere..."

"It's not your fault, Ron. There was a body, charred beyond recognition, and we found his wand. What were we supposed to think? It wasn't the Death Eater style. They killed or kidnapped, but never tried to confuse one for another. They liked to hold things over us too much for that." Harry looked thoughtfully down at him. "I don't think those men are Voldemort's people."

"Who else would do that?" Ron demanded. "You saw what he looked like. Someone's been doing something to him. Something horrid."

"You know as well as I do that you don't have to be on a Dark lord's team to practice the arts. They were too official, had too many important people convinced. The government has been giving them money, letting them use their facilities."

They both sat in serious contemplative silence, Harry floating bare inches above his chest, Ron wondering if he should just go back to sleep.

"This," he said decisively looking directly into Harry's barely there eyes, "is extremely fucked up."

They both started to laugh and it felt good to laugh like that. It made the last seven months of feverish struggle disappear. Harry rolled over in the air, laughing and wheezing a few feet off the floor making Ron laugh even harder. It reminded him of one of the few good nights they'd had in the last few months before everything went to shit. A tense meeting had broken for the afternoon; Hermione, Seamus, Ginny, Harry and he had a food fight with the left over snacks.

Draco had walked in to consult Harry about something and gotten a face full of pretzels and instead of throwing a fit, he had hurled the dry goods back at a giggling Ginny, rejoining the battle with the beer nuts he found by the door.

Ron stopped laughing.

"I have to get him out of there, Harry."

"It won't be that simple." Harry sobered too, drifting back over the bed. "What we need is allies and we've got precious few of those."

"But we won. Everyone's our ally now." He said as innocently as he could muster.

"Ron..." Harry paused. "Stop taking the piss."

"All right, all right. Hermione is probably still safe. Krum, Neville, Seamus and Dean, if he hasn't left the country. Lupin, Tonks... what?"

"Remus didn't make the final battle. Neither did Tonks."

"Right. Any of the older generation left then?"

"Snape."

They both grimaced.

"Why is it always Snape? Fuck, he has more lives than ten cats."

"But he liked Draco. Sort of."

"We need Hermione." Harry concluded, crossing his legs in mid-air. "It would be better if you could talk to her, but that's not in the cards at the moment. I'll go. In fact...let me take care of everything for now. I'll get everyone together. You need to get your strength back and convince your parents that you're not bonkers."

"Oh come on, I can..." Ron paused. His options were extremely limited.

"Get well and give a good performance. We'll need you well and strong."

"Harry..." He cleared his throat and tried to blink away tears. "Harry, I'm so sorry."

"Shut up." It was affectionate, but firm. "You did what I told you and we were both stupid and rash. I think we've both paid amply. I'll check back in with you at night."

And then he was gone, leaving Ron with his troubled thoughts.

)*(

Time no longer passed. If he had thought each moment an hour, it was now an eternity. He could not concentrate to read, but spent his days tense and pacing, waiting for attack. Vimes came in silence, only his hands betraying his nerves and a soft whispered promise of help that only racked his nerves farther up.

He tried to make his sluggish brain function. He pinpointed when his memories slid away from him and the more he examined them, the more frustrated he became. Someone had done a damn good job making sure that he wouldn't recall anything that would be of use or even be sure what he did remember was real. Just dark days and then quiet ones in the manor.

And then abruptly, the spell of timelessness was broken with the smooth slide of the door. He slid into a protective crouch, looking warily up at the stranger. It was a woman, her hair pulled back tight in a bun and her mouth pulled in a disapproving line. Her eyes held the familiar glisten of the lust inhibitor, but she didn't look dulled by it.

"This... cell is not acceptable." She snapped at the man standing beside her. Moving subtly, Draco caught a glimpse of the bent form of Adams. He looked nervous. "The Minister will not be pleased to hear about these conditions for veterans. Not when he's coming up for re-election."

"The Minister inspected these facilities himself." Adams put in, looking surer of himself.

"No doubt tarted up as much as you could manage. And I doubt he saw this particular hallway." She looked very angry and Draco shrank against the bed, cursing his cowardice while simultaneously wishing he could crawl under his bed. "You do well to remember that your place is to heal the ill, not study them. Now go away, I wish to speak to my charge."

"We have not yet decided to release him into your care."

"Your decision has nothing to do with it. I have the papers and the documentation. If you wish to contest them, do it in the courts. Now get out."

Adams was no longer nervous, he clenched his fists and his jaw tightened.

"You are making a big mistake, young lady. He is a very dangerous man."

"I'll be the judge of that." She said again and shut the door behind her. "It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you."

The burble of laughter took him by surprise. It had been a long time.

"Are you here to kill me?"

"No...don't you recognize me?" She came closer, looking concerned. With her mouth softened and eyes wider, he found the girl in the woman.

"Granger?"

"Dracula." She smiled at him warmly and offered him a hand.

Bewildered, he ignored it and stood up on his own.

"Drac-who? What do you want with me?"

"Don't you remember? That day in the pub... why it was my name for you for months!"

"I may have been locked up in here for a long time, but I have not taken an entire leave of my senses. You and I have never had a day in the pub, not in this lifetime."

"Have you truly forgotten?"

He stood in silence for a long moment, evaluating his choices. She was the first person he'd seen from outside the facility in nearly a year with every reason to despise him, but on the other hand she was one of the damningly honorably Gryffindors. And he was so sick of not knowing.

"My memory has been tampered with. I do not know how or why. My best guess is that what I remember is exactly as it was up to five months before the final battle. After that, I have a blur that suggests I did little more than loaf around the manor."

Not sure what to expect, the intensity of her reaction sent him reeling.

"Oh, Draco, if I'd known...if any of us had known." Tears filled her eyes. "We thought you were dead!"

"Dead? And who supposedly killed me?"

"We didn't know. Ron questioned every Death Eater, every Auror and searched out every lead..."

"Weasley?"

"You really don't know." As if it was just sinking in. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. Instead he drew in a careful breath.

"I don't have the slightest idea what you're on about."

"There's not enough time." She looked apologetic about it. "Once we get you out, I'll explain. Take your things."

"Why should I go with you?"

"Are you enjoying your stay here?"

"That's hardly the point. I have no idea what your intentions are. Here is preferable to Azkaban."

"If you stay here, you'll die!" She snapped, tossing a few of the books and the one photograph of his family into her bag. The entirety of his personal possessions. "They're not trying to cure you. They're trying to replicate what happened to you and that requires keeping you here and pliant. The potion they dose you with does more than inhibit the thing inside of you, it keeps you docile and dopey. When that's no longer enough, they will kill you and use your body for raw materials!"

"I don't want to go to prison." He said again firmly.

"No one is sending you to prison! You're a war hero for Merlin's sake! Now march!" She pushed him gently towards the door and the idea of stepping outside his room for the first time in seven months was more than he could resist.

He had pictured the ward outside his door many ways, catching what glimpses he could when Vimes came and went. In his mind, it was a long clean white corridor with a quiet bustle that most hospitals had.

It was little better than a zoo. There was a corridor all right, but there were no visible barriers anywhere. The occupants didn't seem to notice, some caught in intimate moments. With a sick feeling, he turned around, remembering how Vimes had easily changed his wall so he could watch the exorcism. His own cell was just as clear. Unbidden, the memory of every thing he'd done for that last seven months and imagined them on view for any idiot with a clipboard. Had they watched him pick his nose, piss, shit and vomit up food when his stomach was troubling him? Every tear, every hysterical laugh, every pitiful escape attempt could have been witnessed. He had known he was being watched, but this was something worse than simple eye spells.

"It's horrible, isn't?" Granger said softly, pulling him out of himself. He turned to snap at her and found her back turned to him. She was looking at the hallway. "All these lives...what did they hope to accomplish?"

The zoo took on a new meaning as various deformities of those they passed by became clear. Some seemed to suffer no outward ailment, but many more were terribly crippled. Wizarding life being what it was, Draco had only seen a handful of handicapped people in his life. Clearly something had gone wrong in this place. Sometimes it was as subtle as an exaggerated feature or animal limb while others were downright horrific. He was faintly sure that the mass of red in one the rooms was still alive. He stared for a long moment, trying not to throw up.

The small placard to the side of the door drew Granger's attention.

"She's inside out! That was one of worst curses of the war. Oh! I wish they'd put a name down instead of a number, I should like to know who she is."

"That would be most unwise, Ms. Granger." A familiar voice spun Draco on his heels. "Doubtless if you knew, we would be forced to wait while you attempted to rescue everyone in this facility."

War had apparently been unkind to Professor Snape. A deep scar distorted his already unfortunate features; running from the bottom of his chin to up across one eye, though the beetle black stare seemed unharmed. His robes were the same sweeping black, but had lost whatever scant bulk they used to cling too.

He was one of the most beautiful things Draco had ever seen. There were very few people in Draco's life to whom he would listen without question. Snape had always been a very strong second on that list. And given how he and Granger eyed each other, they were working together. Doubtless Snape had all sorts of reasons for it and he gave himself over to his jailbreak without any more thought.

"Professor Snape, a pleasure to see you again." He kept a discreet distance, trying to gauge if Snape had taken an anti-lust potion as he very much wanted to shake the man's hand.

"There's no time for formalities, Mr. Malfoy. Our little forgery is bound to be found out shortly and we should be well away from here before that. Ms. Granger, have you managed to keep hold of the portkey?"

"Yes, professor." She intoned, winking at Draco as if to include him in some joke. He shrugged and looked away, ignoring her hurt expression. "Here."

A jar of jam proved to be the exit out of his internment of what he was only beginning to understand was some sort of laboratory prison. He reached out to touch it lightly and blissfully welcomed the horrid tugging experience of a portkey.

When the landscape became firm again, they were standing in a copse of trees, next to a small hill. Granger and Snape started to walk, Draco trailed behind them, turning his face up to the sun and inhaling gulps of air. He twirled in a slow circle taking in the undulating landscape, a series of gentle slopes, dotted with patches of forest. Off in the distance, he could see a curl of road. And no walls, no walls for miles and miles.

By the time he caught up with Snape and Granger they were rounding the corner. He followed them and was surprised to find that on the new side of the hill someone had set in a large oak door and two large windows. Peering into one as Snape knocked on the door, he saw a cheery kitchen with a table set for luncheon.

The door swung open and Draco barely had time to register that the apparent owner of this odd house was Ronald Weasley before he was being pulled into a suffocating embrace. Instinctually, he fought against it, flashes of orderlies, Vimes and various others who'd assaulted him on sight without the lust inhibitor. When the other man pulled away, his heart nearly burst in relief, until he realized the other man was still gripping his arms.

"I'm sorry! I just....I'm so happy you're here, you're alive. I'm so sorry, I knew you weren't dead. We should have kept looking.."

"Ron! Ron, let go of him."

Obviously confused, Ron released him and Draco rubbed automatically at his arms, looking to Snape for a cue, but the professor had turned his attention to Granger's explanation of his memory loss.

"Is it true?" Weasley turned on him. "You really don't remember..."

"There are memories, but I believe them to be false. As Granger said."

"Oh."

Perplexed, he watched as Granger moved to Weasley, putting a supportive hand on his shoulder while he turned away.

"Would someone please explain what the bloody hell is going on here?"

"Mr. Malfoy is owed several answers. I have several questions of my own."

"Questions and answer, right." Weasley pulled away from Granger and headed back into the house. "I'll put the kettle on."

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Page 154

To Make the Mind a Prison

 

There is a great satisfaction in seeing a worthy opponent laid to waste. Many are the strong assassins who refused to let any physical assault weaken them, but none have yet come up against this spell and remained intact. It works on a simple locking spell hybrid with Occlumency. It breaks off the mind from all contact with the senses. Adrift in darkness, men quickly lose their minds, so despite the brevity of the spell's hold, it is well worth the intense effort. Gibbering maniacs tend many of my needs and there is nothing more lovely than a Light hero crawling on his hands and knees with your slippers in his mouth.

)*(

The past two weeks had been a new and different sort of torture. For the first few days, Ron had essentially been bed bound, guzzling down any potion suggested to get him back on his feet faster. He read the news and generally convinced his parents that everything was fine. Harry would come by late at night to tell him how things were progressing. He seemed troubled, more often than not reporting this one dead or that one gone to live in Bolivia or worst of all, not being trustworthy any more.

By the end of the week he was mobile enough to see a long line of Ministry officials. They all wanted to know what had happened in the last battle, specifically what had happened to Harry. He repeated the story the same way every time and tried to lie as little as possible. Yes, he had been there when Voldemort died and yes; Harry had been alive and whole after killing him. Past that point he told them he only remembered a blinding pain and collapsing. His interrogators got less and less patient as time went on, but they didn't seem to have enough evidence to arrest him and they certainly couldn't make him disappear again, considering how close a watch his parents were keeping on him.

At least, that's what he'd thought when he went for a walk one afternoon. He'd just intended to go out to the pond behind the Burrow, walking leisurely in deference to his still aching muscles when someone leaped out from behind and tried to wrestle him to the ground. Only months of remembered training had kept his wits about him. He pummeled his assailant into the ground.

"Stop! Please...oh fuck..." The man had groaned. Slowly, Ron got off of him, intending to interrogate him, but wasn't surprised that the man portkeyed away the moment he did. He had little doubt that he'd been meant to be swept off with him.

As soon as he got back to the Burrow he began to pack.

"Ronald!" Molly scolded when she came up on him folding clothes into his old trunk. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I have to go, Mum. You know I do."

"This doesn't have anything to do with those people from the Ministry, does it? You know they just want to be sure of what happened." Her hands twisted into her apron. "You've only just come back and you're not well..."

"It'll be all right, Mum. Everything is going to be fine. I just need to be away for a while."

"You listen to me Ronald Weasley..." She began and found herself cut off with a strong hug.

"Good bye, Mum. I'll owl you."

He apparated out, careful to chose a destination some miles from his actual goal. It was all too likely that there were various trackers on him. Luckily most tracing spells weren't worth a sickle when it came to simple walking, especially in uncharted areas. He kept his mind as blank as he could and when that failed, concentrated on other likely safe houses. They were places long since cleared out, but they might slow down potential hunters enough for his trail to go cold.

The walk was hard on his still recovering body and the hike that used to leave him feeling invigorated left him shaky, sweaty and ready to collapse. Finally he reached the right hill.

"Weasels and ferrets living snugly and smugly in their warren" he whispered, ignoring the tightness in this throat. A door grew up out of the earth and the grass retreated back from the windows. The hinges squeaked a bit as the door swung open in welcome. He'd have to get on that tomorrow.

Sneezing, he banished the dust outside and surveyed his domain. It needed about three hours of good cleaning spells that he'd have to look up and practice first, not to mention he'd have to walk to the muggle grocery store a few miles north and get supplies. Both tasks seemed daunting at the moment, so instead he settled on climbing into his musty bed, discarding clothes as he went. Sleep came quickly, his body fatigued from what he had demanded of it.

The next morning, he rose and used the bathroom, pleased that the plumbing needed no work. In the storage room, he wrestled out one of the pair of temperamental bicycles that Hermione had given them a few years back, cursing the cantankerous thing into motion. When it seemed that it would agree to hold him long enough, he moved to the safe and pulled out a stack of Muggle money. It was endlessly useful to have a home that also doubled as the Order's safe house with all the secret stashes and fall back plans that entailed. He went into the village and bought enough groceries to last several weeks give or take a houseguest.

Cleaning kept his mind occupied for two days. He'd forgotten how hectic things had been towards the end and the Warren still bore memories of those times. Rolls of parchment thrown helter-skelter on the kitchen table, inkpots and quills stuck in among them with the occasional candy wrapper. There were even a few cigarette butts from one visiting Auror or another. Anything that might have been important, he stored away. The living room couch, love seat and chair had seen many overnight visitors and needed to be scoured clean, the fireplace cleared of burned parchments. He varnished the wooden floors, levitating to walk well above them as he worked.

Then he tackled the bedrooms, washing the linens, airing out the blankets and comforters while ignoring the personal effects left behind in all three, including his own. There would be enough time to pour over them when he thought he could withstand it.

When there was nothing else to clean, he spent his days pushing his lax muscles to regain their former strength. He trained ferociously; all too aware that the battles he fought from now on would have little to do with a well timed punch and harshly spoken spell. Still, he was used to his body being able to accomplish certain things and it irritated him that his endurance was not what it had been.

In the evening, he studied spellbooks left behind and spoke with Harry when the ghost could spare a moment. If he had to be left behind to wait, then he would grow stronger while he did.

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Page 13

To Speak to the Dead

 

There are many who have passed over the years that I have needed later on. Ally and enemy both can hold onto information that is necessary after they have expired. It is a plague of immortality that one outlives many useful servants. There are many different forms of the dead that can remain in our world, but this spell is to reach beyond those who linger and into the netherworld. It is one of the few spells that only the casters blood will do. It is best if it is then amplified with heart's blood. The dead have a thirst for the living.

)*(

Whatever Draco might have expected of Weasley's kitchen, it wasn't this. There was a simplistic elegance to the smooth wooden counter tops and the antique looking table. It reminded him of the dining room table in the manor. He ran his hands along the side as he took his seat, tracing the pattern carved into it trying to regain a sense of the familiar.

"You bought this table." Weasley told him as he set a cup of tea in front of him.

"Why would I do that?" He snapped back, but he could easily imagine wanting this lovely piece. The wood was rich and the carvings subtly beautiful. It fit the kitchen surprisingly well, something that he would have picked out.

"At the time you said it gave this place some class which was sorely needed."

Draco scowled and carefully brought the tea to his lips. It was lightly sweetened, brewed dark. Just the way he liked it. He set it down as if he'd been burned.

"Tell me what's going on here." He tried for calm, reasonable.

"It's a long story." Granger said softly.

"It's five months missing of my life, of course it's a bloody long story!"

"I would venture a guess, Mr. Malfoy that there is rather more than five months missing from your memory. There seem to be rather prodigious gaps in your memory."

"The five months is the indistinct part. Before that it was very clear, getting the Mark," He looked to Weasley and Granger, but neither seemed disturbed or surprised by that fact. "attending several Death Eater meetings."

"And what did you do during the days?"

"I was studying." He said firmly.

"Studying what?"

"I..." He paused. "I can't...something about language..."

"Sumerian." Weasley added in. "You were trying to become fluent in it."

"Do not aid him, Mr. Weasley. We need to determine what the extent of the damage is." Snape rounded on him. "How old are you Draco?"

"What day is it?"

"The 12th of May." Granger quickly supplied, glancing at Snape. The professor gave a slight nod.

"I've missed my birthday then. I'm 22 years old. "

Exchanged glances all around and it was Snape who finally said:

"The year is 2004, not 2002. Draco, you're 24. "

"That's not possible...I remember...." He faltered. What did he really remember? A handful of half-faded moments. Snippets of conversation. All of which were directly related to the war. "Why would anyone do this? What could they gain from wiping my memory? And why replace it with a false one?"

"Self-defense." Weasley said suddenly, looking dumbstruck. "You must have done it to yourself!"

"Don't be daft! Why in fucking hell would I do that?"

"Because you knew too much that could do a lot of damage in the wrong hands." Supplied Granger, who looked like she was unraveling a tricky knot. "None of us were very good at Occlumency and in the worst case scenario, we were to take poison."

"Poison?" Draco snorted. "That's the most silly, melodramatic thing I've ever heard. Surely you could come up with something better then that."

"That's what you said at the time too." Weasley appeared oddly morose at the thought. "I guess you came up with something better."

"When was this?" He snapped.

"A few weeks after you left the Death Eaters and surrendered yourself to me." This memory was less melancholy it seemed, as Weasley smiled slightly.

"I did what?" He screeched, trying to sort through any possible reason why he would have done such a thing.

"Actually, you wanted to surrender to Harry, but he wasn't about that day and I was the only person you could find. You whinged about that for about ten minutes before you actually got around to surrendering."

"I did no such thing!" He turned to Professor Snape. "Right?"

"You did. Not only that, but you did it sincerely." A slight pause. "The surrendering, not the whinging though I rather assume that was sincere in its own right."

"But..." He stared at his professor, glancing over at the two Gryffindors he grimaced. "Sir...I mean... you weren't...mad?"

"Snape was a spy for Dumbledore." Granger filled in again. Then laughed. "That's the exact expression you had on the first time you found out."

"So I surrendered. And at some point later, I was captured and evidently wiped my own memory to keep information from the other side. It all sounds disgustingly heroic."

"It didn't exactly happen all at once." Muttered Granger.

"And you lot didn't just throw me directly in Azkaban, so I must have had something worth bargaining with. I can't imagine I'd surrender otherwise."

"You did. You had the Gri-"

"Ms. Granger, it would be a serious mistake to tell him about that." Snape glared at her. "He has gone to great lengths to hide that information from himself."

"For a protection that is no longer necessary!"

"If it were not necessary, we would not have found him in that...facility. The enemy is not yet subdued."

"They were after what's done this to him, not the information he has."

"You were a foolish girl and it is sad to see you have grown into a foolish woman. It is eminently possible that they want the information as well. They are not the type to have a singular motive."

"So what, we keep him in the dark about the only thing that might be separating him from..."

"Excuse me." Weasley interrupted coolly, rising from the table. "I have a guest to attend to, you two bicker over his fate while I make him more comfortable. Come on, Draco."

"Ron.." Hermione began, then stopped.

"What if I don't want to go with you, Weasley?"

"I have four words for you: clothes and hot bath. None of this is going away and I know you. You do your best thinking clean and comfortable."

The potions master and mudblood were already starting in on each other again, having chosen to ignore the two in favor of their argument. Draco rose and followed Weasley out through the modestly appointed hall and into a beautiful room. It was clearly a study of some kind with a mahogany desk and chair occupying the wall under a window, but instead of bookshelves there were two towering armoires taking up the wall opposite. A burgundy leather sofa took up the remaining wall and sitting on the arm was a book, open face down. The desk was neat, except in the middle where a quill had been left sitting on parchment for too long and left an inkblot on what was clearly a half-finished letter.

"I left it this way." Weasley moved aside, to allow him into the room. "Hermione thought it was morbid, but I never believed you were dead, you see. Not really. Not in a way that mattered. And changing it would mean that you were."

Draco heard, but did not hear. He walked to the desk. The letter was clearly in his handwriting, but the contents were obscure, prattling on about verb forms and some 'pick up game' he had participated in. The unfinished sentence was something about the outcome of the game. The book on the couch was "Revising History, An Art". Had he sat there on this couch, set down the book and took up the quill to write this letter...to who? why?

"You can look around later. There are lots of things in the desk that might help you remember. I probably shouldn't have...well. Hermione can yell at me later." The redhead moved to an armoire and opened it carefully. "They're all your clothes. Pick out what you like. The bathroom is right next-door. While you're in there I'll transfigure the sofa. There are guest rooms....but this might be better."

"Yes, sleeping in a room surrounded by things I owned in a life I can't remember living. It sounds like a perfect way to relax."

"You'll hate the guest rooms more. This was your room."

"Which you never touched. And yet have to transfigure the sofa. So I must assume that I slept in a guest room here at some point. Merlin only knows why."

"You didn't....I'll tell you about it later. Shower, clothes. Priorities." The other man fidgeted for a moment and finally seemed to make a decision withdrawing something from his sleeve. "Here. I didn't tell them I still had it, but I don't think either of them will be upset if you have it back."

"My wand!" It took everything in his new gained patience not to snatch it back from him instantly. Another time, the time that he recalled, this would have turned into a long tease with a threat of violence, wand held just out of reach. But that Weasley was not the one standing before him and this time it was handed to him, filling his palm and he nearly moaned in relief.

"We'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."

The door closed softly behind his host and Draco sat down on the sofa, cradling the slender shaft of wood to his chest, not daring immediately to do anything with it, but feeling deeply restored with just the feel of it in his hand.

Once he was sure his legs would support him, he moved to the open armoire and started to look through the neatly hung and coordinated clothing. Most of it was familiar; things he had worn since being Marked, what wasn't something he could recall getting was well within his tastes. Going through the drawers, he found the silk boxers he favored and neatly rolled socks. The only thing out of the ordinary was a small pile of t-shirts, a hooded black sweatshirt and a few pairs of odd shorts in neon colors that looked stretchy. He ignored them, chose one of his old favorite outfits and quickly retreated to the bathroom.

The tub was acceptably large and he soaked for a long time, using his wand to keep the water hot and clean. Once he'd started casting spells, he couldn't stop and in the end the whole bathroom had been redecorated in shades of pale green and silver. Weasley would throw a fit and he looked forward to bringing that old Gryffindor red to the other man's cheeks. Make for some normalcy.

The mirror made its report and he frowned in displeasure. Face too thin, eyes manic and hair grown too long and ragged. The barest hint of a moustache was making an attempt at his upper lip and he removed that first, before using spells to bring his hair back to the desired length. He took great pleasure in throwing the hospital robes aside and pulling on his own luxuriant threads again. It was hard not to notice how they hung off of him or how he had to take care with his altered nails to not catch on the fine fabric. But Draco was adept at denial.

Clothed, clean and neat, he walked back out, following the sound of Snape's dulcet tones. They were still at the kitchen table, Snape and Granger jawing back and forth about something, Weasley at the stove, apparently making dinner. None of them slowed as he settled down, the two academics were apparently involved in some theory or another that had little to do with him and as he looked between them, he could practically feel the tension. Weasley glanced over at the table occasionally, a thoughtful look on his face. Soon enough a plate of food appeared in front of them all and words ceased as the needs of the body were tended.

"When will the tranquilizer wear off?" Weasley asked abruptly.

"It's built up in his system over the period of seven months. It could take several days."

Draco, busy trying to politely shovel food in his mouth, listened with only half an ear. The food was simpler fare then what he would get at home, but it reminded him of Hogwarts, fresh and filling. Everything at the hospital had tasted vaguely metallic.

"He's so quiet." Granger said softly. "It's frightening."

"I am sitting right here." He pointed out, slathering butter onto bread still warm enough to melt it as he spread it. "And you might consider that I am well aware that I am completely at your mercy in the middle of fuck knows where and dependant on Professor Snape for a potion that will keep me from being little better than a rutting animal. There is no visible benefit to throwing a hissy fit."

Three sets of eyes turned to him and starred so hard he was sure his hair would catch on fire.

"What?"

"You are aware, Mr. Malfoy, that you do not sound like yourself."

He shrugged and took a bite out of his bread, licking the butter from his bottom lip.

"I apparently can't remember myself, so I don't see how I could."

There was a long silence. Draco helped himself to more shepherd's pie, making short work of it, aware only of the slow filling of hollowness he hadn't been aware of.

"I'll tell him." Granger pronounced, Weasley looked like he wanted to protest, but a look from the woman sent him silent again.

"Fine." The red head snarled, rising abruptly. "I'll be in workroom."

"Good. You can tell me a few things that Ms. Granger hasn't deemed fit to enlighten me on."

Snape and Weasley abandoned their food, leaving a softly smiling Granger to tend him. Draco wondered if he could take the plate with him if he decided to run off.

"You came to us a few months after your 21st birthday." She began, pouring herself a glass of water and not commenting as he took another helping of potatoes. "We had a few safe houses, this was one of them, actually, but at that moment we were gathering forces in a small valley. You walked in one day, like it was nothing and demanded to talk to Harry. You were nearly killed on the spot, everyone was so wired and here the enemy in the midst...Ron took you into his tent and you surrendered to him."

He sipped water.

"And I was incarcerated?"

"No, you brought us very valuable information. Specifically, the Grimoire." She searched his face, looking for any signs of recognition, he stared back impatiently. "Right....the Grimoire was a powerful spell book it didn't start off as a book, it was clay tablets when it was first created. It has a spell on it, one of many, that alters it into the most accessible form of the time. It probably was more powerful than any known text. Being the only one beside a few experts who could read it, you became our liaison and unraveled a lot of spells.

"How would I come to have such a book? I was hardly a high ranking Death Eater."

"You would never say. "

"That's ominous." He sipped a glass of water. "Or perhaps it was simply dull. The truth so often is."

Granger shrugged.

"All we knew is that you'd studied cuneiform which was the way-"

"Sumerians recorded their language. I've lost my memories, not my education."

"Right, well the book was written that way and you could read it. In exchange for relative freedom, you gave us the spells one by one. I still have a lot of the translations around. They were Dark, all of them. But knowing them helped us counter them. The Death Eaters already had a substantial amount of them figured out by the time you got your hands on the text. But they seemed to only have translated them part way. They came out wrong or only half finished."

"But still devastating, I imagine."

A long silence.

"Horrible things those experiments in the so called Veteran's Wing look like that."

"And with the book, you could reverse them? So you wish to save them."

"You never finished translating the book. It contained well over two hundred spells and there were some more urgently needed than others. When you were taken the Grimoire disappeared."

"Careless of me to carry it around like that."

"At that point it was hard to separate you from it."

"It doesn't sound like me to get so attached to a book." He forked over a piece of chicken.

"You weren't happy about the situation, I assure you. It tried to graft itself to your flesh. It took a lot of cursing to keep it from doing so."

"Well, fuck." He peeled pale flesh from the bone, forking it genteelly into his mouth.

"But that's just the Grimoire. It's important for you know to really understand. You were a part of us."

"Why? Was I growing into your flesh too?"

"No! I mean it, Draco. You were one of us. For two years you fought with us. We thought you'd come just because you thought your side was losing and maybe that was your reason initially, but by the end you were one of our most valuable team members. When we found your wand on that body it was one of the most horrible deaths of the war."

Draco thought about sedatives, about months of fragile calm and the crackling under the skin. Of years before that when mutual hatred had been the theme. He thought about his Father, who was the only person he had ever truly loved. He hadn't even asked what had happened to him. His own welfare was more important because it was all he had left and now he sat in the enemies' den, eating their repast and being fed stories of a past that was stolen from him. By who? Voldemort, Adams and Bank, Vimes, the very people he broke bread with? Himself? He set down his knife and fork.

"I thought I was dead sometimes. That the hospital was some kind of purgatory. But clearly, this is hell."

"It isn't....oh, Draco." Granger has the audacity to get misty eyed. "This is your home, The Warren."

)*(

Page 43

To Erase a Strand of Memory

 

There are occasions when an otherwise useful person sees or hears something that is not for their ears, or must be used in a way that could ruin their talents. There is the well-known Obliviate of course, but this spell is clumsy, often erasing whole chunks of life, months or even years and that can tamper with efficiency. This modification allows the removal of a series of related events, leaving the rest of the memory intact.

)*(

In despair, Draco slammed the door behind him and looked around him for anything that might be familiar, but the woods around the Warren were dark and ominous. He clamored up to the roof. It couldn't be properly called a roof, but it was the piece of earth that covered the dwelling. A blanket was folded neatly in one corner where the land was the most horizontal. He unrolled it and lay flat on his back. It was a clear night and the stars reached from horizon to horizon with only a sliver of moon hanging in their midst. Taurus, Perseus, Aries and Cetus greeted him like old friends. The memories of his childhood were as sharp as ever and he could almost hear his Father's voice intoning the names, guiding his eyes with one graceful finger.

The soft sounds of the forest thrummed around him, supported by the distant Muggle road. The occasional hum of their strange, unwieldy vehicles on the road and a rare strain of music drifting out an open window.

Hours later, warm masculine arms lifted him up and he opened his eyes blearily for a moment and let them drift shut again, curling into the larger body.

"The moon, Father. A sickle." And then sleep overtook him once more.

When he woke the next morning, it was to the sun streaming in through the tremendous window. The last traces of a spectacular sunrise lingered on the horizon. Over the desk chair, a fluffy white towel was laid out and a hamper that hadn't been there the day before stood unobtrusively between the armoires.

The couch had been converted to a comfortable bed, but he was sick of lying around and rose immediately to bathe, picking up the towel. Just as he emerged, Weasley was coming down the hall, dressed in a ridiculous outfit.

"Good morning. There's breakfast if you want it. Hermione and Snape already ate and went off to work. They probably won't be back for a few days, but Snape already brewed something ten times better than you were getting. He figured it out so you're the only one who needs to be dosed, so no more dealing with drugged people...what?" He returned Draco's stare.

"Weasley. What the fuck are you wearing?"

"Jogging clothes. As if it was abundantly obvious. Trying to keep in shape."

"Those pants are the ugliest things I have ever seen." They were neon green and looked painted on, revealing rather muscular thighs and neatly outlining the Weasley family jewels.

"They're easier to run in than slacks. Besides, you used to wear them."

He flashed on the pants he'd seen in the wardrobe next to the improbable t-shirts. Weasley's said "Stud of the Gryffindor Pride". Typical.

"Why on earth would I ever wear anything like that?"

"Because you could never keep pace with me after forty minutes and you became convinced it was the pants."

"It's not fair to lie to someone with no memory. I thought Gryffindor integrity forbade that."

"You wore the pants. And you still couldn't keep up."

It was the hint of a smile that pushed Draco over the edge. He went back into his room and emerged in a pair to of non-neon shorts and one of the ignoble t-shirts that said "King Cobra". There was a pair of battered sneakers on the base of the second armoire and he slipped them on, relieved that they were already broken in.

"Let's go."

Weasley stood stock still for an instant, swallowing hard, then shook his head.

"I take a trail through the woods..."

"I'll keep up. Go."

They didn't speak. Weasley led the way to the path and they took off, rubber soles beating down grass and rocks. The fresh air, the limitless landscape and the exercise sent Draco into lightheaded ecstasy and despite months of confinement, he pushed himself to the limits, occasionally bursting forward with speed, then falling back to keep pace with his red headed companion. It only tired him out faster, of course, and soon he was sitting down on a large rock, wheezing out of breath, sweat pouring down his face.

"You realize what this means." Draco panted out as Weasley settled beside him, obviously suppressing a triumphant grin.

"That you're still not recovered from spending seven months in a prison cell?"

"Precisely. And I will pound you into the ground within the week."

"Ambitious."

"I've been accused of that on occasion." He reached over and picked up a blade of grass, rubbing it lightly between his fingers. "Something highly improbably occurs to me. Correction, something that given all the evidence is probable, but strikes me emotionally as completely ludicrous."

"Uhh...all right. What is it?"

"That before my capture, you and I were....physically intimate." He tried to sound detached, but he was sure some of his disgust and confusion came out anyway.

Weasley scratched at his leg.

"What makes you think that?"

"Mostly how hard Granger was not talking about it. And a lot of your dropped remarks about my study."

"We're not good with subtle, are we?" Weasley addressed the question straight-ahead, red staining his cheeks.

"No, very Gryffindor of you. I want....Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"How it happened. Were we drugged? Locked together in a room hopped up on love potions? Drunk perhaps.."

"No." The tender look Weasley shot him made him feel deeply uncomfortable. "It happened slowly."

"I refuse to believe we had a formal courtship." He let his gaze drop to his hands, delicately using one sharpened nail to trace the grey patches of skin.

"Not that kind of slow..." Weasley stood up and started to pace in front of him. "I don't know how to explain it. It wasn't one night or being locked in some closet. We were just...we worked well together. In the beginning you needed a watcher, when we didn't trust you. Harry and Hermione were constantly being called away, but as base camp leader, I spent most of my time in one place going over strategy. It seemed natural at the time that we should share office space, so I could make sure you weren't up to anything."

"If I was, mere proximity wouldn't have done you any good." He muttered.

"Better than nothing. That office was heavily warded. We talked a lot, shared close space for hours at a time...you didn't have many friends there."

"By not many you mean none, I can't imagine that any of your people were particularly interested in cozying up to a Death Eater, ex or otherwise."

"You'd be surprised, there were quite a few thrill seekers that wanted to spend quality time with you. But for the most part, it was just the two of us and whoever I had a meeting with at that moment."

"So we....bonded." It was hard to keep the sneer out of his voice. Weasley snorted.

"We started shagging two months into your incarceration if that's what you mean. It wasn't supposed to be anything more than what it was. It wasn't romantic, or any kind of bonding. It was a good way to pass some tense moments. When Harry bought the Warren for me...."

"That place is yours?"

"It's really more ours. But it's my name on the deed and well....you might not want it any more. We lived there for nearly a year before you...." The pacing halted minutely and then started up again. "It was a safe house for the Order, lots of business came in and out. There wasn't time to talk about relationships. We both thought it stupid to make plans when we both knew we could be dead at any moment."

"Slytherins always plan."

"You must have done it without me then. We were spending enough time planning everything else. Meetings, battles, precautions....it was nice to have something we didn't talk about." Bouncing a bit on his toes, Weasley turned back on the path. "Ready to start back?"

With ease, Draco rose to his feet and soundlessly ran off, dimly aware of the other man matching him pace for pace all the way back to the Warren.

)*(

"So that's the plan? Just sit here and wait it out?"

"Ron, listen to me, we don't know anything about these people or who's behind them. In the meantime, the Ministry is gunning for you and at the moment we don't have anyway of protecting you."

"But there must be something....reconnaissance, research...."

"There's nothing."

"Fuck that. I won't sit here hoping that something will happen. "

Draco edged along the side of the wall, glancing into the living room. He had been reading the book left open in his room, hoping to glean something from it, but this argument sounded a lot more interesting. There was Weasley slumped in a chair and whining and there was Potter sitting Indian style in the middle of the room a few feet of the floor. Bloody ghostly show off.

"So go tearing off into the countryside with wand drawn!"

"I know, I know....I'm going to lose my mind here, you know."

"Living with him didn't make you crazy before. It won't make you crazy now."

"The circumstances are somewhat different now." Weasley stood and walked to the window. "And he's not my Draco. It's like those horrid stories about wishing on a monkey's paw."

"He's still Draco."

"I had to explain to him how we became a we today. Can you imagine that? It was awful and he had that face on....the one he always did when he didn't believe me."

"You did it once, you can convince him again."

"I don't want to do it again! I want my boyfriend back."

Stop whinging, Draco wanted to shout. You think you've got it so bad? What about me? What kind of person had he become? Some love sick house husband, holding his Gryffindor boyfriend's hand?

A ghastly scream started up somewhere outside the house. It raised goose bumps all along Draco's skin.

"It couldn't be...." Potter was up and out the wall, reappearing moments later.

"Tell me it isn't."

"It's one of those fucking beasts. Why haven't they been rounded up by now?"

"You heard what Hermione said about those people in the facilities. Someone is still trying to make more of those things!" Weasley was turning around the room, gathering loose scrolls and muttering spells.

"I can't see them letting them loose." A scrabbling at the door set both Gryffindors momentarily silent. "How did they find us?"

"Let's worry about that after we get rid of them." Another unearthly shriek rattled the windows.

"Draco, quit eavesdropping and help me with these!" Potter yelled over the din.

"I am not eavesdropping!" He snapped and then slapped his forehead. Slick, very slick. Nose in the air, he waltzed into the room. "Help with what?"

Potter's ghost smirked at him, but Draco was able to pointedly ignore him as Weasley thrust a length of metal into his hands. It was a ten-inch rod with a wicked looking point on one end.

"Iron. Our friends out there don't like it. They come near you, try to get it impaled into their flesh. Aim to capture, not to kill. Webbing spells work well, but cages don't nearly as much."

"What are they?"

"We call them the Wunderkinder." With no more of a warning, Weasley moved into the hall and readied his wand. "On my count."

"On your count what?" Draco shouted over another shrill cry.

"One, two....three!" The door flew open and over a barrage of shrieking, Weasley started throwing curses.

The first one got beyond his initial defenses within moments. It was one of the most horrifying things Draco had ever seen. A small child with thick black curly hair and cherub cheeks was brushing the ceiling with a five-foot wingspan, insect wings. It smiled; lips long since torn away from sharpened teeth and dove down. Tiny hands burdened with bony claws reached for his neck.

Automatically, he raised his hands up to protect his face. Stake still in hand, he felt a warm spray across his closed eyes and another one of those horrid screams. Eyelashes pried open only with difficulty and the back of the hand he used to wipe them clean was covered in vicious green goop. The thing he had speared was back in the air, its screams becoming more ragged as the flesh around the iron dissolved.

"Malfoy, stop staring and help Ron!"

"Fuck off, Potter." He muttered, but turned quickly. Three of the beasts were already caged around Weasley; a fourth was diving in out of his line of vision.

"Strokia!" He commanded and was gratified to see the demon child fall to the ground, well caught in the sticking vines he'd created.

A collective silence descended as they strained to hear any more of the wild shrieks over those of their captives. Finally, Weasley shut the door, careful not to come in contact with waving talons and gnashing teeth.

"What are they?" He yelled over the din.

"Wunderkinder!" Weasley shouted back, then making a face cast silencing spells on them one by one. "There. Much better."

" Wunderkind is German for prodigy. I fail to see how these things come anywhere close to that title."

"It literally means ïwonder child'. Grab the other end would you?"

He took up one side of the webbing around one of the beasts and Draco reluctantly took up the other. They maneuvered it slowly to one of the spare bedrooms.

"Before you could steal the Grimoire and bring it to us, several Death Eaters had been at work on it. They did manage to grab quite a few spells, but a lot of them were garbled or only partially translated. Also good old Baqer didn't always make things crystal clear. We think that these beasts are failed experiments."

"So why Wunderkind?"

Weasley grimaced.

"Can't you guess?"

Draco looked at the thing caught in the net still screaming silently, tears forming in its eyes.

"They really are children." Horrified, he barely got the words past his teeth.

"We think Muggle ones. The particular spell was one the Death Eaters were very interested in. It was meant to be a sort of Animagi spell except that the second form would also be humanoid. Instead they made these things." He shook his head. "We can unmake the ones that we capture. Then we try to find out where the kids come from and put them back. The fey half of them rarely survives."

"They only made them from fairies?"

"The only ones we saw. But some of the kids claimed they saw other things. Probably the Wunderkinder were intended as foot soldiers."

The lipless horror clawed at the webbing. He had a cousin from his Father's side. If the years had moved as the white hats claimed, Nicco would be seven now. Draco had always been fond of his young cousin, the only relative that he could claim seniority over. People had always thought that they were brothers with the same white-blonde hair and grey eyes. But this was a muggle child, he reminded himself. No wizard would do this to their own child. Still, the chill that settled into his bones promised a long stay.

"Better off leaving them for the night." Potter drifted in to point out to Weasley. "If we change them back now, we've got no way to feed or clothe them."

"Well, tomorrow should be entertaining." He glanced over to Draco. "You're thinking about Nicco, aren't you?"

"Yes....wait. How did you?" He stopped himself. "Right, of course. My previous incarnation would have mentioned him."

"He's fine as far as we know. You checked on him a week before you disappeared and he was all right then." He rose. "Let's get the rest of them in here."

They returned to the hallway and Draco looked at the Wunderkind that he'd spiked. Its flesh had decayed around the iron and its death seemed to have unknit the spell. A limp fairy, probably about six inches tall was sprawled inside the dissolving stomach of a young boy. Glassy blue eyes stared at the ceiling and one small cubby hand was stretched towards the spike that impaled him as if he'd tried to remove it before bleeding out.

Draco staggered outside and threw up in the bushes until there was nothing left in his stomach but bile. Then he threw up once more. Dimly, he was aware of someone squatting beside him, rubbing his back and whispering nonsense at him. Too exhausted to resist, he let himself be tugged back into the house and settled on his couch bed.

"Here, drink this." A small vial of white potion that looked entirely unappetizing was placed in his hand. He sipped it down, pleased that it quieted his stomach and refreshed his mouth. A cool washcloth was proffered next.

"You've done this before." He remarked dryly as he cleaned his face.

"You always puke after you see someone you killed. Other corpses don't even faze you, but if you did the deed I know I'd better get the supplies ready."

Weasley had settled next to him on the bed, a warm presence at his side. He wondered dimly what would have been different a year ago. Would Weasley have comforted him with something more intimate? Emotionally and physically wrung out, it didn't seem too unappealing to imagine having someone offer comfort. Tentatively, he leaned into Weasley's side. Automatically an arm curved around his shoulders and then tensed as the mind caught up with the body. When Draco made no attempt to squirm away, Weasley relaxed again.

They sat together in the darkness for nearly an hour. Draco listened to the blood rush through the other man's body. Other noises became clear as the minutes ticked by: the soft catch in his breath when he inhaled and the occasional slide of fabric when he shifted. He wasn't sure when he drifted to sleep, but he woke up many hours later alone and covered in a thick comforter.

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Page 127

To Create a Shape Shifter

 

There are many spells that allow one to change from form to form. This was far too limited for my purposes and I have spent many hours researching the possibility of having many shapes both animal and humanoid. Eventually, I discovered the secret, but not before creating many dual and tri form creatures. Endowed with the abilities and innately loyal to the magic that created them, they make very good bodyguards. They also make entertaining lovers.

)*(

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione. Give the poor bloke a rest."

"I'm fine." Draco ground out, eyes slit and sweat beading on his forehead.

"She's been throwing spells at you for nearly three hours and neither of you had anything to eat."

"I don't recall you becoming a mother, Weasley."

"Wouldn't have to act like one if you didn't act like such a child. Eat." A sandwich appeared at his elbow.

"I am not." He insisted, but was too busy devouring the sandwich to make much of a stink about it. His rampant hunger hadn't abated since being sprung from prison.

It would probably help if everyone weren't so hell bent on feeding him at all hours of the day. Well, less everyone and more Weasley. The man shoved him plates of food every time he looked the slightest bit off color which, considering how he'd looked just a few days before, was still almost all the time.

"I can't figure it. I've tried every spell you would have used." Hair pulled back from her face and a decent flush to library pale cheeks actually improved Granger though Draco could have done without the whinging.

"Then maybe it wasn't me." He said through his mouthful. "Or maybe it was me compounded by someone else."

"That's it exactly!" She beamed at him. "I've missed working with you."

He shrugged and took a long slurp of water.

"So can you undo it?" Weasley asked, setting an apple in Draco's empty hand.

"I'll need to do some research on doubled spells. I think in long-term cases they might entwine and I don't want to do the wrong thing. In the meantime, there's no harm in keeping up gentle reminders."

He bit into his apple thinking about the child he'd killed two days before and his own transfigured body. About his tentative relationship with Weasley that consisted mostly of long jogs and forcefully presented meals. He'd been spending most of his time leafing through the papers left in ïhis' desk. There was a mixture of things. Personal letters from people he couldn't identify since they all used codenames, his own apparently being ïDracula' as Granger had mentioned. He was nearly sure that ïVoltaire' was Snape and he was positive that ïD'Artagnan' was Weasley as some of them were hot enough that the paper warmed to his touch. It was disturbing to read unfamiliar desires spilled across the page in his own handwriting.

"What do you think? Draco?"

"He's left us. Draco, are you all right with playing guinea pig again in a few days?"

He nodded slowly.

"I'd prefer if we could switch priorities to getting this thing out of my body. Even without the sedatives, being drugged is starting to wear thin."

"I don't think we're going to be able to fix that until we can get to your memories of what happened. " Granger said softly. "But I'll be seeing you both soon."

"What about Snape?"

He enjoyed her startled expression, pleased to have taken her off guard, even if he wasn't sure how.

"He has a lot more responsibilities to attend to." She responded primly.

"Teaching hardly takes up every waking hour."

"Ron! You didn't tell him?"

"It's not like we spend all our time in Q and A sessions." Weasley replied waspishly. "You're the one who told me to only tell him what he wanted to know and he didn't ask."

"There's no need to be mean about it." She sniffed. "Draco, the professor is the Headmaster now."

"Snape? Headmaster....." Draco laughed. "He must hate it."

"He complains a lot, but there was no one else. And really, he's very good at it."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Weasley mumbled and thrust an apple into Draco's empty hand.

"I'd tell you to grow up, but I've given up hope of that ever happening. I'll be back in a few days. Don't get into too much trouble."

"Hey, ïMione. Could you do me one more favor?"

"Ron, I'm very busy right now...."

"Just this one."

"What?"

"Could you look into Nicco Malfoy's whereabouts?"

Biting in his apple, Draco pressed down the feeling of gratitude and kept his face blank when Granger glanced back at him.

"No problem. Now, I have to go." And with that she was gone as if worried they'd rope her into something else if she stayed a moment longer.

"She's always doing that. Do you want another apple?"

"No. What happened to my Father?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said you'd only tell me things if I asked you, so I'm asking you. What happened to my father?"

"We're not sure. From what Hermione tells me there was a raid on the Manor a few days after the final battle, the place was filled with vampires, and they looked like they'd been there for some time. His body wasn't among the dead...." Weasley paused, searching his face. "He's probably somewhere safe."

"Oh." He ran a hand through his hair. "And my mother?"

"She's in Azkaban. Once everything has....settled down, you can go visit her if you like. Without the Dementors it's supposedly a much more humane facility."

"I don't want to see her." He stood up, carrying the core to the kitchen garbage. "Never again and certainly not like that."

"Just a suggestion." Weasley hesitated briefly, apparently searching for a change of subject and looking visibly relieved when one occurred to him. It was a good thing he'd never done any spy work, his face easier to read than a large print book. "I've got to go into town for some supplies, would you like to come?"

"Are we supposed to be exposing ourselves like that?"

"It's a muggle town."

"Which means I'll be completely obvious or have you forgotten these?" He wiggled his altered fingers at him.

"I didn't forget, we can do an illusion on them, but if you want to stay here that's fine with me."

The house was filled with light in the late afternoon, spilling across rich wood floors and the sounds of the forest finding their way through the cracks. But a prison was a prison and he had been long confined.

"Just remember that you brought this on yourself."

"All right, now they say that you never forget how to ride a bicycle, but I'm not sure how that works with amnesia...."

As it turned out, just fine. Draco had always had an innate sense of balance that gave him a leg up on a broom and proved more useful with a bike. After two or three rough starts he was riding with what appeared to be practiced ease alongside Weasley on the road.

)*(

Riding with Draco again was torture. It was a warped mirror to the past. If he looked forward and listened to the rubber on cement then he could imagine that nothing had changed. Their rides, like their jogs, had been a constant in a life always out of sorts. Draco moved along with sinuous grace and for the most part kept to the silence Ron craved. The rest of their lives had been all chatter, banter, but like the jogs, riding was an oasis of silence. It was when Ron had felt closest to Draco, excepting, of course, sex.

As they went he would occasionally glance at the aristocratic profile with its small upturned nose and thin lips parted slightly, a flush to the pale skin. He loved him in those moments, more than he'd ever loved anyone.

The differences when he glanced over now were heart wrenching. The body was still wasted from captivity, breathing labored with the exercise. And when he looked Draco kept his eyes forward where once a smirk would have caught the side of his mouth.

Sometimes these excursions had veered to something else. Once, most notably, with Ron pressed up against a tree, Draco's mouth moving wetly against his ear and one hand wrapped around his cock, not moving just gripping and Draco brought him off with a litany of talk that sent Ron's eyes rolling back into his head.

He tried not to think of it with this quiet pseudo-stranger. This wasn't his Draco, not really. But it was hard to remember that sometimes.

"Stop." Draco ordered suddenly, stumbling off his bike.

"Are you all right?"

"Am I a killer?" Ron blinked and dismounted his own bike. "No, don't answer, I must be. You said I have killed and Gryffindors don't lie about such things.

Ron thought about Peter Pettigrew, who lay strewn across a hillside somewhere, but said nothing.

"How much blood is on my hands?"

"No more or less than is on mine."

"All for the cause of good." He said bitterly, leaning against the bike handles.

"No." He let his own cantankerous bike fall to the ground, stepping around it to look him the eyes. "To survive. There was no other cause. We fought to survive."

"A Slytherin credo."

"No. No house. No family lines. It was you and I and I made a vow to you that we would make it out."

"You broke your venerated word then." Fairly dripping with malice and it was gut wrenchingly familiar.

"I thought I had. But here we are, you and I. Surviving."

"With memories gone, spliced into some kind of werebeast. And you running from Aurors because they think you killed Potter."

"You know about that?"

"The brain is an amazing tool, I suggest you use it some time."

"Now see, your sense of humor. Not something I missed."

"Did you?"

"Miss it? Well, yes actually, but...."

"No. Did you kill Potter?"

"And your perceptiveness. Didn't miss that either. Except I did and..."

"You did."

"He begged me to. It was the plan we'd....well. We knew Voldemort wouldn't go out easily and he already had magical hooks into Harry. More than anything, Harry didn't want to be used like some sort of cheap battery to keep a Dark Lord's heart beating." Ron's voice shook as he spoke, too aware that this was the first time the truth fell from his lips. "I tried to make it easy. He was my friend and I.....I'd killed so many people. Especially that day....we preformed the ritual as best we could. If we'd waited for Hermione...."

"You don't have to tell me." It helped that Draco's voice was shaky too. "It was what made sense at the time, I'm sure."

"Did it? There must have been a thousand other things we could have done. Things that would mean my best friend would be here, solid and breathing." I will not cry, he ordered himself, I won't.

He didn't until Draco slid an arm around his shoulders with a concerned look on his face.

"I didn't mean to...."

"You didn't. It's good. To say something about it. Come on, those supplies won't get themselves."

But they stayed like that for another moment, Ron wishing he could kiss the man next to him and hug him until he protested about his ribs while Draco's arm got tenser with obvious confusion.

After that, the comedy of watching Draco in a muggle store for the first time was hardly worth anything. Besides, he'd seen it before and the first time around they had kissed behind a display of soup when Draco had tired of being laughed at. This time, Draco wound up in a staring contest with the cash register, eyes narrowing each time in beeped or clacked which Ron chuckled behind his hand.

"Shut it, Weasley." Draco had growled, not taking his eyes off the register.

"Yes, sir."

"That's ïmy lord' to you."

"And what are you lord of exactly?"

"All that I survey." Draco returned primly and Ron's laughter redoubled.

To his surprise, the slightest of smiles passed over Draco's face as well. All in all, emotional breakdown on the road aside, he counted the day a rousing success.

That night, in a fit of what Draco had once called ïmaternal instinct' he made a thick stew and heated up the fresh bread they'd bought. Usually his meals were very simple or pre-made, but tonight he felt they both needed something filling. They ate in silence, more comfortable after the day they'd had. Draco was leafing through one the books he'd left behind and Ron read over Hermione's account of what had happened in the institution and added a few of his own notes about what he'd seen.

"Weasley."

"Hmm?" He swallowed the piece of beef he'd been chewing over.

"What if I put on the memory charms for a reason? Beyond defending information."

"What other reason would you?"

He watched with interest as Draco did his non-fidget: fingers spread out before him, carefully not moving them. It looked stranger with his hands deformed.

"To forget my betrayal to my family. Whatever atrocities I committed when I was on either side of the line."

"You never would."

"How do you know?"

"You always said that regrets were for sobbing ninnies."

"What I say and what I do, do not necessarily correspond."

"Ah, at last the truth comes out."

"So you admit it's a possibility."

"I can't imagine you not wanting to remember that time."

"But you have a prejudice."

"I suppose I do. But I'd also say I know you better....well, than you know yourself at the moment."

"So I shouldn't tell Granger to fuck off and die the next time she waves her wand in my face?" The longing was apparent, fueling Ron's laughter until he was sure he would choke.

"No, I really wouldn't recommend that unless you want to spend some quality time as a cockroach."

"I'd like to see her try."

"She did. You learned never to insult her hair, ever again."

Draco's incredulous look prompted the telling of the whole story, ending with his personal favorite part,

".....so in a fit of intoxicated conversation, you both decided that the only way to get even with each other was to do simultaneous transfigurations, most impressive won. Unfortunately you assigned no judge nor did you have anyway of turning each other back, so for the rest of the night ïMione had a lovely set of snakes writing about her skull and you had two very wicked fangs and whiskers. That's why you called her Medea and she said you made a terrible cat, but an excellent vampire, hence Dracula."

Draco was chuckling wryly, but he trailed off quickly.

"You know me."

"I should hope so."

"No....I mean you know me. Things that I don't tell people. Things that I wouldn't want anyone to know. It's not...."

"I know you're a very private person, but you have to know that you trusted me."

"Not me." Draco ground out and stood quickly, walking to the study. "He did. This mysterious other who I don't know, who stole two years of my life."

The door slammed and Ron nearly put his fist through a cabinet.

)*(

Page 35

To Undo Beauty

 

For every great spell, there is it's exact opposite which is capable of something just as powerful. Paired spells, being matched for each other, move easily from one to another. After summoning some of my beauties, I have on occasion found them tiresome, petty and plotting. Nothing punishes a vain woman more than stripping her of her adornments. I then return them to their homes, where they can live out their days still young in body, but old and haggard in appearance.

)*(

"Thank Merlin you're here." Weasley muttered the minute Granger was in the door.

With more caution this time, Draco leaned in the doorway, using spells to enhance his hearing.

"Is everything all right?"

"Remember when I told you I couldn't imagine having to go through the early days with him again? The mood swings, the sniped questions and the long silences?"

"I remember. You also said you'd do it all again if it meant getting him back."

"I hate when you remember things better than I do." He sighed. "I feel awful for him too....he's so confused. Lost."

"Well, I'm here to help." She said cheerily.

Footsteps approached and Draco quickly banished the spells. A perky knock on the door automatically set his teeth on edge. He threw open the door.

"All right, let's do this." He ground out and stumped over to the living room and threw himself in a chair. Could practically feel the two Gryffindors exchanging glances over his head.

"Draco, you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Don't placate me, Granger. Crack open the books and practice your voodoo."

"All right, all right." She picked the first scroll out of a precarious stack on the side table.

"Just...." Unwillingly, his fear shone threw. "If I ask. Will you put them back?"

"Absolutely." Her earnestness convinced him not a whit, but it was the best he could do. "Diagnostics first then."

After about twenty minutes, she set down her wand and cleared her throat.

"Enlighten me." He sneered.

"It's three spells, they're wrapped so tightly together....but that's more from time than intention on the part of the second two. You cast the original one, I think. It's got a self-originating point anyway."

"Can you remove them?"

"I think so. The one you cast looks stubborn and the other two are pretty engrained, but I have a list a kilometer long of spells I can use."

"Joy of joys." He muttered, then louder "Let's start then."

"Are you sure you don't want to break for lunch or something first?"

"What is with you people? Stop trying to turn me into Christmas goose."

"Fine, fine. Good to see you back in your usual humor." Was she actually smiling? Draco huffed, then stiffened as she took up her wand again.

"The newest one first, I think." She tried a few things then. "Alfvendo Reveticus."

//

"Draco....Draco....have they brought lunch yet?"

The flash of red out of the corner of his eye kept him steady. Who ever would have thought that a Weasley would be the thing to tether him to reality? When he could have turned the pain off by loosening his mind and gone into a wonderful dreaming madness, he had been hauled back. And by nothing more than a thin, cracking voice that still measured out those proper syllables, he was held to reality.

He'd lost track of the amount of time since he had arrived here, dragged from his endless quiet days in the manor to this stinking dungeon with dozens of others of aborted experiments and victims. There were children, adults both wizard and muggle, all crammed into the damp stone. They were all restrained to some extent, but over time, they had found ways to communicate. Against all odds, they had formed a group of sorts, plotting breakouts and keeping each other sane.

Draco was kept separate from the others lest the beast be so tempted that it broke the chains that held him to the wall. It was Weasley they put closest to him and the other man was at least intact enough to talk most days.

"Lunch?" He shifted his weight, wincing as his wrists chafed. "There's been no food for two days."

"Bad manners, starving one's prisoners."

"You can quote etiquette of torture to them when they return."

"I will. At least if they knock me unconscious then I won't have to bear Matilda's whining." It was a continuing joke that the middle aged woman was the worst about their situation despite her relatively light sentence, but it was no longer funny.

"They took her away last week, remember?"

"Did they?" The note of bewilderment provoked Draco.

"Percy! You promised me."

"I believe that I promised your father." He corrected absently, shifting in the dark. "I will maintain myself as is befitting a gentleman."

It had been to Draco that he made that promise; half delirious with pain it hadn't been hard to convince him Lucius was at his side instead of his son. Draco still wasn't sure how Percy had fallen so far. The last he had known, he was his father's most trusted aide, having earned the role by springing him from prison. It had been a delicate operation and the reason for it never revealed.

"Good. How is your arm?" Percy's left arm had been bent into a curled shape, practically as painful to look at as to experience.

"Just fine thanks. Your wrists?"

"Holding out."

"I think I'll take a stroll around the grounds today. Maybe take tea in the Blue Room."

"Not the Blue Room. There aren't windows."

"Of course." Draco can practically hear the unspoken sir. Proper Percy to the end, but it's nice to be respected in this hellhole. "The West Balcony then. I'm sure Mister Malfoy will want to take his tea in his study. I'll join him there when I'm finished to go over the latest property surveys. He was looking for a new summer home."

"He'll never sell Belle Reve." The days on the French beach were some of Draco's earliest memories. "When he's away from it, he loathes it and then the minute he sets foot on it, he remembers that it's his favorite place."

"Perhaps he should move there."

"Perhaps...." There was a scream. Nothing unusual, but for its location. Somewhere above them. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

They were both silent and then the stairs creaked ominously. The soft whispers that echoed around the prison halted.

"Who's there?" Someone called out. There was a short heavy silence and a blaze of light.

Then all was chaos. Draco rattled against his chains, trying to see what was going on, but the light blinded his dark adjusted eyes, the screams of his companions in pain blocked out anything he might have heard. He called out for Percy again and again, but the other man was somewhere beyond responding.

"Look what we have here."

The air smelled like ash and the last shrieks of the dying Wunderkind shook through the air. Their corpses littered the floor. Those left alive were being stunned and dragged off by Aurors. Some had managed to work their way free and fought back. With Percy gone, Draco had lost whatever scant strength or will he'd had left to fight. Who was he anyway, but a worthless playboy? Let the agony end, anything.

A towering gentleman and a bent one leaned over his prone body. Immediately the beast stirred with interest at the closest meat it'd had since its creations. The other experiments had been kept safely distanced from him. It roiled under his skin, sniffing for prey.

"This one will know something."

"Get back...." He warned them, throat creaking. But it was too late; the beast went from sleep to full control in seconds.

They were driven up and over him. They tore at the rags of his robe and used him. It should have been awful, but the beast that rose to the front howled with unbridled glee, egging them on, until he was barely conscious. His body demanded more and it wasn't until the two men were dragged away that he came back to himself.

They left him alone for what felt like hours. The remains of his friends were dragged away. Finally, one darkly robed man swept down the stairs. He looked vaguely Asian and his eyes were glassy.

"Hello young man." He leaned down and his hands weren't the least bit predatory. Draco relaxed fractionally. "What's your name? "

"Draco....Malfoy...." He wheezed out. A small hand reached to his throat, taking his pulse.

"I'm Master Vimes, a medi-wizard. I'm going to take you to a hospital."

"Please....kill me...."

"I cannot do that, Draco. You're a very important man."

"I....am....nothing. Kill me."

"This won't do...." Vimes looked up and glanced around. A small hand caressed his forehead and a wand appeared in the other. "Trintus Exparto." ////

Warm arms encircled him before he even knew he was shaking. It was all there again, the intense depression, the death, the horror of the beast that had taken over his flesh and let him be torn apart by all who came in reach. The repressed anger, shame and sadness tore through him in long hard sobs.

"Death, please....death...." He pleaded as he shook and sobbed.

"Hermione, you need to undo the other spell, he needs to remember something good. Anything."

"No more!" He wailed. "Please....fucking kill me...."

"The second is more complicated. " Granger was flustered, going through scrolls. "It's the one that has all the false memories attached to it."

"Don't get panicky. Work it out. I'll keep him calm."

The warm presence moved around and his eyes tried to focus through the tears.

"Weasley, if you have any pity in your heart...."

"I won't kill you, Draco. I already lost you once. I refuse to do it again."

"If you cared about me at all, you wouldn't allow this. My mind is a prison....."

"Hush." Weasley dared, caressing his hand. "My beautiful proud lordling."

"I'm nothing, Weasley. Especially to anyone like you. And if you won't kill me, I'll do it myself!"

He lunged for his wand, but Weasley was a few weeks ahead of him in recovery and had the advantage of height and bulk.

"I have something! Keep still Draco."

"No....no more memories.....please...."

"Vetricale Expento Maymota!"

// He had only just been turned into a monster and held hope that he would be rescued though he was well aware that it was ludicrous. He knew they would leave no evidence of him behind. Still, his mind wandered to Ron, striding in with wrath greater than a god's as he slay all who stood between him and Draco.

He blamed his mother's romance novels for such thoughts. Though the wrath part would be right enough. Ron didn't take people hurting those he considered ïhis' very well. His anger was notorious enough in strategy meetings, but in battle approached legendary.

The only comfort he had being in this dank cell was that Ron wouldn't give up on him. Hermione, Harry and Ginny would tell him to leave off. Not that they didn't like Draco, in their own ways, maybe even cared for him as they often claimed. They were just more practical. He wished he'd left some memories of them intact, but it was too dangerous. Instead, he knew only that they were missing, that was enough.

The skin on his hands itched terribly.

Then the beast within rolled, stirring his stomach and more notably his libido. There was someone coming.

"Sing a song, song singing, singing song...." A small voice rang out from the stairs.

He knew at once who it was.

"Nicco! Nicco, don't come down here!"

"Dra'o!" The tiny voice chirped. "You're hiding!"

"No, no....Nicco. Don't you dare come down those stairs. You must not." The beast rebelled, struggling for control, tearing at his fragile hold.

"But I miss you." The tousled head appeared around the corner.

"Nicco...."

But it was too late, the beast threw itself forward, easily snapping the uncharmed chains that held it. It slunk across the floor, stalking the child, licking its lips. Nicco stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs. One taloned claw cupped his shoulder when another pair of footsteps weighed heavily on the stairs.

"Nicco, how did you get.....STUPEFY!"

Draco fell like lead to the floor. The new presence whisked Nicco up the stairs and stayed a reasonable distance away.

"Oh, my son...."

Draco strained to see the familiar figure, cutting a lithe shadow on the stair. It was the first time he had seen his father in nearly two years. He could have wished for much better circumstances, but he had once thought that the next time they met, one of them would be dead.

"Exem Libaratra San." The soft sounds slid around his skin and made him feel greasy, but the beast subsided. He could feel it beating on the temporary cage. "Nicco....listen to me boy! Go find Percy, have him read your lessons to you."

Lucius kneeled down to touch his cheek.

"This is what has become of you. They told me that they killed you, but this is a fate much worse than death. They are playing with things they do not understand and while I am all for cracking the secrets of Baqer, this is not the way to go about it. Vocctas."

Throat and lips given isolated freedom, he used it.

"I'm sorry, Father."

"There's no apologies in situations like this. Though I think you already know that. It's war, Draco and that's an ugly business."

"Nicco...."

"He'll be fine. Just had a little scare. I've taken him in for a while. Your aunt and uncle aren't around at the moment." They were probably missing or dead, he guessed. Aunt Patricia was a hard-nosed bitch, but Uncle Edmund had always talked to him like an adult and taken him to America once before Nicco had been born.

"I don't want to die like this. As a traitor." True enough, if not saying to which side. He worried about keeping the secrets that needed to be kept. He wasn't sure if they were completely buried. And what if he hadn't rooted out everything....

"Skillful interrogators must have been at you for weeks. There's nothing you would divulge." There was the slightest of hesitations and Draco knew that his Father has seen through his words, one last time. "This last thing can I afford to give to you. You were the serpent on my bosom, but I cannot begrudge what I myself made. I taught you to look out for yourself, above all. And you did your best not to implicate me. For that." He leaned his wand to Draco's temple. Draco thought of Ron and silently said his goodbyes.

"Forget. Unta Jacadenta." //

"He's coming round!" Ron fairly sobbed in relief as grey eyes split open, then gasped as arms wrapped around him.

"MINE." Draco snarled and reared up to capture Ron's lips in his own.

"Well, I guess that worked then." Hermione grinned from ear to ear. "That third spell is a bit more complex....I'll go do some research on it...somewhere that isn't here. Right, bye!"

"Draygo, my Draygo...."Ron mumbled into his mouth.

Automatically, he trailed his hand lower, but Draco shook his head.

"Can't. Lust inhibitor. But...." He pressed the red head down, dusting kisses across his cheeks, his eyes.

"I just want to feel you again. I didn't think...."

Expertly, he peeled back the casual clothes they'd both been wearing. When they were both naked, Ron delectably covered in freckles; Draco became suddenly self-conscious of his wasted body and lay down across the broader man. Skin against skin again, Ron wrapped his arms around him and held him close.

"Do you regret remembering?"

"There was....a lot. Horrible things, terrifying and...." He stopped before he could start shaking again. "But this is my life. I don't want to live in a haze of forgetfulness. I remember....enough to know what I don't. But I remember us. I remember being hungry for you, coming to you in the dark of the nights. I remember the jogs and the bicycle rides."

"So you're saying that remembering that is worth remembering all the horrid stuff as well?"

"Would I say something that horribly romantic? No. I would rather I only remembered the good times. But I don't have that fine a choice. Now, do you want to hear more emotional stuff or do you want me to suck your cock?"

"Fuck yes, please." Ron told him emphatically and kissed him again, running his hands over the supple skin he'd once known so well.

The territory had been redesigned a bit, ribs created bumpy valleys and the once muscular legs were softened. He loved every skinny crevice and when that talented mouth left his, he groaned.

"Crude, but polite." Draco muttered and trailed his fingers over Ron's chest and belly, stopping to nuzzle at the beginning of the trail of hair on his stomach.

"You always do that."

"Complaining?

"Rejoicing."

Then those lovely thin lips were wrapped around his rising erection and it was everything he remembered. Hot and wet. He carefully didn't put his fingers into the white-blond hair. Draco hated that. Instead he dug his hands into the couch and let his mouth get away from him.

"Beautiful, fuck....yes....right there.....Draygo, my Draygo....missed you there....missed you..... everywhere ..oh...." He went on in a similar vein until his long deprived body caved in and convulsed into orgasm.

Draco stayed where he was, swallowing daintily, which always made Ron wish he were hard again. Though in this case probably a bad idea.

"How could you be near me at all? Let me do these things to you?"

Gazing down, the upturned face and the sleek body that he wanted naked all the time lounging between his thighs. Draco was looking at his own malformed hands, trying not to touch Ron with them.

Without hesitation, he took one clawed hand in his.

"I will always want your touch."

"Romantic promises, Ron."

"Say that again?"

"Romantic promises."

"No, my name."

The ends of his mouth curled up.

"Ron, Ronald. D'Artagnan. Weasel."

"Draco, Draygo, Dracula. Ferret. Are we declining verb forms?"

"Nouns. Proper nouns to be exact." Draco rose slowly. "Take me to bed. I want a nap."

The living room was vacant within seconds.

)*(

Page 68

To Straighten Bone

 

Nothing is uglier than a misshaped bone, bending the body to horrid angles. All too often an otherwise serviceable beast is laid low to such a common thing as a broken limb. This spell saved many of my favorite rides, human and equine. It must be done with great care so as not to rupture anything inside the body. Leniency, used sparingly, will earn loyalty where a hundred curses have failed.

)*(

"Bacon, eggs and hash browns." Ron pronounced, setting down plates on the table.

"Sounds artery clogging." Draco dug in contentedly. "At least now I know why I'm so hungry all the time."

"Oh, why's that?"

"The beast doesn't eat, so my captors didn't bother to feed me. I assume that whatever they gave me at the hospital had only basic nutrients in it, but the drugs suppressed my appetite in general."

"Fuck." Ron slumped in his seat. "I'm going to....nothing seems horrible enough."

"Revenge does have a certain ring to it. And the others...."

"We'll get them out."

"All a question of how."

"I can answer the when."

A fork clattered to the floor and the newly materialized ghost hovered over the table.

"Damnit, Potter. Stop showing off!"

"Jealous, Malfoy?"

"Yes, I always wanted to be dim in a physical and mental way. And by the way, I believe it's you who owe me sixteen galleons."

"You had to give him his memory back." Harry groused.

"I have no regrets." Ron beamed. "What did you come to so melodramatically announce?"

"The place they held you and Draco isn't a part of St. Mungo's, but you two already know that. They are, however, on the rosters as officially existing as a research facility. And apparently their budget just got cut."

"Not surprising considering they lost the two most valuable specimens."

"The implications aren't good. They're dissolving the department, which means ïtermination' for the people still in there. We'll have to act quickly." Harry shook his head. "It's going to be impossible. The two of you are still recovering and everyone else....they have lives to risk now. People that depend on them."

"Don't dismiss the team just yet, Harry." Standing, Ron cleared the plates. "Get me a blueprint of the facility and ask Hermione about what she can do about a mass portkey. I think that will be nicely effective."

"We need to make it public." Draco chimed in, following Ron's thought. "Not only will it stop a quiet extermination, but it will make Ron and I very popular heroes. They'll stop trying to get Ron Kissed for your murder."

"It sounds good. Then again your plans always do and we know how they can wind up...."

"It was one time with the owl feathers, you really need to get over it Harry." Ron tapped the end of a quill against his lips a few times, leaving familiar tabs of ink all over them.

Sighing, Draco got up under Harry's watchful gaze and returned with a pencil. With quick efficient movements, he replaced Ron's quill with it. The red head blinked and then turned his gaze upwards with a dazzling smile.

"Thanks."

"Ink poisoning makes you no good to anyone." This was accompanied with a swift swat on the head that Ron took gracefully.

The three of them poured over the plans while a spring downpour beat at the windows. When it became obvious that Ron was lost in the obscurities of unknown passages and intricate revealing spells, Draco found some leftovers and carried them into the living room.

His memories weren't fully integrated yet and he poured over the new data like vacation snapshots taken years before. Some were indistinct, mere impressions that he couldn't fit into a larger framework: a smell of jasmine, a girl crying or grass under his fingers. Others were startling in their vivid recall. The first time he and Ron had shagged, hot, fast and rough on a bed that was little more than a blanket folded in half; killing Blaise Zabini in battle without blinking and later throwing up until he was soaked through with sweat; and buying the table for the Warren in a market place somewhere outside of Moscow where he was sent for three days to recover from a nasty curse wound.

The gaps were still there. Some were obviously from the last spell, the one he had set himself. Nothing from any of the camps aside from the inside of tents, no meetings or work of any kind and certainly not even a trace of the Grimoire.

"The appetite is different, right?"

"Shit! Potter, stop doing that!"

The ghost shrugged, settling in the air next to him.

"I'm not really Potter, you know."

Eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I am him. But not....him."

"Either you are or you aren't. And if you aren't you have a lot of explaining to do."

"I am. Just not all of him or even most of him." He bit at his bottom lip as Harry had been wont to do when inarticulate. So he had done it a lot. "Ron killed me during the ritual like he was supposed to and just like the spell is meant to, most of me died or went wherever you go afterwards, but my....I guess you could say magic. The part of me that was present when I did magic anyway was swallowed by Ron."

"Yet, you act as he did and speak as he did, so fragment or not, you are essentially Harry Potter."

"I can only manage those things because I was an integral part of who he was. But there are gaps. I can't remember everything, only what went on at times when magic was called for. "

"Why are you telling me this? Why does it matter?"

"I don't want Ron or Hermione to know. They're both feeling guilty about my death, this way I can assure them that it's all right."

"Sounds like the Potter I knew." It didn't sound like a compliment and the ghost didn't take it as one.

"It's a lie of omission, but in this case it's called for. Or would you like Ron to blame himself for my death?"

"If you care about him not knowing then why tell me at all?"

"You're good with secrets when you want to be. I thought someone should know in case there is an obvious gap in my memory. You would know why and could help me cover it."

"And if I don't want to be a part of your little game of hide the truth?"

"It will only be until we sort things out with Adams and Banks. After that, I won't be lingering here."

"How do you know?"

"Ghosts just know these things. Will you help me?"

"No. But I won't tell Ron or Hermione unless I find it necessary to."

The ghost sighed.

"That's the most I could really expect, I suppose."

"Damn right it is." Draco growled and returned his attentions to the leftovers.

"So your appetite? Different, right?"

The glare Draco gave him over the plate of cold meat had never been effective on the real Harry Potter and it seemed the ghost was no different. It shrugged and dematerialized, presumably to go bother someone else. Some time later, Ron wandered in and sat on the arm of Draco's chair, eyes sweeping over the page the blonde was reading.

"Harry?"

"Disappeared."

"Great, just when I need him. Typical."

Memory, Draco decided, did not make the man.

)*(

Page 14

To Silence the Dead

Laying ghosts, ghouls, wraiths and zombies to rest is easily done and there are hundreds of spells that accomplish such things. There are more than these forms that the dead take, however. Including the insidious plague of memory. How often have I heard the voices of those that are long departed whispering in my ears? Many are the nights I have lain sleepless with the cascade of sound from hundreds of men and women. This is a spell to silence them, at least temporarily. It leaves memory intact, but represses the intensity of them, quieting the voices for a time.

)*(

When Hermione had glanced up from her paper to stare at him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye for the twelfth time, Draco decided that it was time for action.

"Ron, could you get us some lunch? I'm starving."

"You've got hands, you do it."

It was a nice change from the ïhandle him like glass' attitude Ron had adopted, but the timing was off.

"He's also knee deep in magical theory while you seem to be doing stick figures of Adams and Banks shot full of arrows."

Good one, Granger. He applauded her silently as a guilty, mutinous Weasley slunk out to the kitchen.

"All right, Granger, what is it? Memory spell eluding you?"

"No....I was just sort of wondering if you knew why there was a triggered nausea spell on you."

Slowly, Draco set down his quill and pushed away the scroll he'd been poring over.

"Someone must have spelled me in the hospital."

"I don't think so. It's old. Older then the memory spell, actually."

"Perhaps I picked it up in one battle or another and didn't notice. It's a fairly low grade spell."

"It has the markings of a self-cast spell."

How civil and reasonable we both sound, Draco thought.

"Now why would I put a spell like that on myself?"

"I have no idea why you would or I wouldn't be asking."

"Perhaps I'll know when we get rid of this last spell then. It might be tied into the Grimoire."

"It might. It's difficult to tell what the trigger is, but I do recall your unfortunate tendency to be ill every time you kill."

"Killing makes me sick, I don't really see why the two are linked."

He had very few tells after all these years, but she has never missed a trick and had known him for more time than he can fully recall. The advantage was hers.

"It occurs to me that if you want to earn the trust of the opposite side who are convinced that you are evil scum, one of the best ways to do it would be to show signs of a tender nature. Squeamish at the sight of blood perhaps."

"What exactly are you accusing me?"

"Nothing....it's just that it seems like that'd be how you thought. We never did learn why you were entrusted with something as precious as the Grimoire. Voldemort hardly favored anyone enough to blindly trust them with one of his most precious artifacts, let alone lend it to their children. So you must have proved yourself in your own right."

"Like I said, undo the spell and I can help you. Until then you're just throwing darts at a blank board."

"I don't think that I am. How far were you willing to go?"

He closed his eyes for a long moment and when he opened them again he caught hers.

"I seem to remember you asking that of me once before. But then it was for you. ïHow far will you go for us?' I don't remember what I learned from the Grimorie, but someone like Baqer Hasim doesn't make pretty, trinket level charms. You all asked a lot of me, sending me against my own kin, people I had once considered friends."

She didn't look away. Something he'd always admired her for.

"You chose your side. You knew what we would ask."

"My point exactly. I chose my side and I was loyal to it. What does it matter what I did to earn your trust as long as I did nothing to abuse it?"

"Because trust should be based on honesty."

"Don't be a twit." He turned away, leaving her to flounder.

"I wouldn't think less of you if you had done things..... We all did. I just...."

"Release my mind so we can take care of Adams and Banks. If we're both alive we can talk about it then."

"That's what you said when our poker game got interrupted and we never finished it." The catch in her voice made his eyes roll.

"I'm sorry I couldn't clean you out again because I got abducted and used as a guinea pig by the Death Eaters and the government. Can we get back to researching now?"

"Prat." She swore under her breath, but since she returned to her book Draco let it slide, letting out a shaky breath.

"I've got sandwiches. Who's hungry?"

Stomach rebelling, Draco took his plate without a word and started to demolish it. After all, Ron had done as ordered.

"I've got to be going."

"What about the spell?" Startled, Ron looked between the two.

"I think I've studied it enough. I'll tweak what I have and work with it after the meeting tomorrow."

After she left, Ron turned on Draco.

"All right, what did you say to her?"

"What makes you think I said anything?"

"Draco."

"It's not important. A minor disagreement."

"You know, the more you downplay something...."

But Draco wouldn't say anything else about it and Ron was enjoying the fragile peace too much to pursue the matter. Especially when a few minutes later, Draco closed his book and slid out of his chair into Ron's lap. Wordlessly, he laid his head on his shoulder.

"What makes them Unforgivable?" The whispered question barely broke the silence.

"To control a mind, to break someone with pain and to murder are things that cannot be forgiven." It was a standard reply, something a student would say.

"Forgiven by who?"

"I don't know....whosever in charge, I suppose."

"We all did unforgivable things that those in charge would exonerate us for if they weren't out to get us."

"There's Unforgivable and unforgivable. The one without the capital is harder to define."

And far more common to commit, Draco added privately. Outloud:

"How awfully morbid of me to bring it up. Being inside is making me maudlin. Let's for a walk."

Under the setting sun, he carefully steered the topic to safer ground, but the conversation stayed with them both for a long time afterwards. Idly, Draco considered if he should tell Ron about what he remembered about Percy and what the ghostly Harry had told him. But Ron's relationship with that brother was a painful one and he probably would take the ghost's fragmented existence the wrong way.

Better to let it be, a lie of omission.

Far from the first between them.

)*(

Page 44:

To Recall

Four hundred years of memory were not meant to be held in one human mind. Though my memory has always been extraordinary, it is by no means limitless. In order to keep the most relevant matters at hand without losing important information about the past, I developed this counter to erasure that stores memory in specific places. I have secreted many memories into various objects, retaining only the knowledge of where they are located and a vague summation of its contents. It is not a perfect system, but has worked for me thus far.

)*(

"Longbottom. A pleasure as always."

Draco opened the door wider and turned to walk back down the hall, leaving the bewildered man to trail in after him.

"Weasel, the gardener is here."

Ron stuck his head around the kitchen doorframe and smiled.

"Hullo, Nev. Have a hard time finding the place?"

"Ron....is that....we thought he was...." Long lashes descended slowly, a sure sign that Neville had passed through overwhelmed and into shock.

"It'll all be explained. We're gathering the old gang together and I'd hate to have to say everything twice."

And up the lashes went again.

"Right. Well then. Could I trouble you for a cuppa?"

The deep laugh that rumbled from Ron startled Draco for a moment. He had forgotten the sound of it. It occurred to him that it wasn't a sound he'd heard very often. There hadn't been much to laugh about in their time together despite the jovial stories they now recounted. Contemplating this, he didn't hear the knock at the door.

"Shall I answer that then?" Neville was already trotting to the door away from the stunned resurrected man. "Hullo, Professor."

"Longbottom." It was a good bet that Snape would never quite be able to say it without curling his lip.

"Excuse me Professor, but you seem to be blocking the door." Hermione said curtly. Taken by surprise, Snape stepped aside to let her in and then trailed after her into the kitchen. "Neville! It's been a long time. Tell me about the green house!"

"Um....well, we've opened a new branch." He sat down in the corner chair of the table. Unconsciously checking both windows on either side of him before settling down.

"That's wonderful! Where?"

"Umm in New York City actually. We're considering moving there."

"We?" Draco blurted out, and returned Ron's glare unapologetically.

"Why, yes." Neville smiled. "I rather think my wife would resent me leaving her behind, especially with a baby on the way."

Draco sat down slowly.

"Your wife?"

"You probably don't know her. We didn't make anything public until....." Lashes halfway down, a glance out the window. "....after. Clara was doing some potions work that required a specifically English plant, but she's American at heart. I don't care much where we settle."

"I can't believe you might be leaving." Hermione sighed. "When were you going to tell us?"

"I just did." A faint smile found returned grins on all the Gryffindors. Snape caught Draco's eye and they shared a moment of incomprehension.

"What Mr. Longbottom fails to mention is that Mrs. Longbottom was my apprentice until he stole her."

"Oh, come off it Professor." Hermione snapped, before Neville could defend himself. "It was Clara's choice and it's not as if you did anything to help matters by trying to convince her not to marry him in the first place!"

"I don't recall anyone asking for your opinion on the matter, Ms. Granger, or do you think Longbottom still can't defend himself after all these years?"

The argument begun again, Draco felt the return of his earlier detachment. Even with his memory partially restored, the span from his capture to his release was lost time. The world had spun on without him, a war had ended, and lives were being lived. It was a sick form of time travel that left him disoriented in what was meant to be his own home. A home that he had cursed himself into forgetting.

Ron sat down beside him, leaning in to be heard over the rising argument and Neville's quieter coughing attempts to calm the matter.

"We can't get that back, can we?" The low tone snuck underneath Draco's defenses and raised the hair on the back of his neck.

"What back?"

"That time. They've already started to move beyond the war. For them it's been over for months, the pieces are coming back together. For me, the final battle wasn't even a month ago. And for you, it never came."

"I don't miss it. Battles are all alike."

"It's not just the battle."

A flash of gold shone off Longbottom's finger as he raised his hand in silent protest against an onslaught of sharp accusations.

"I've never been to a wedding for someone my age. Only relatives who were eons older." He commented quietly.

"Somehow, I think you'll get to anyway."

Following Ron's glance, he watched calculating Professor Snape grow heated with anger in a way he'd only ever seen Potter provoke before. Cheeks flushed, the scar stood out even more, a pale punctuation across livid red. Across the table, Hermione was standing up, pressing her palms into the table, hair frazzling out of its tightly controlled bun.

"You've gone completely insane. All that time with Potter in your brain was bound to affect you somehow...."

"Say what you will, but I'm right about this."

"I'm with Draco." Neville put in suddenly. Cursing, Draco suddenly recalled how deft the quieter boy had been at hearing more than he was meant to. "They'll kill each other first."

There was a knock and Neville rose smoothly from the table.

"I'll let them in."

Disappearing down the hall, he cued the others to filter into the living room. Ron reached over and grabbed Draco's hand as they settled on the sofa.

"Loosen up." He hissed, wincing at the hard hold. "They're your friends."

"Our friends. And family."

"I don't think I remember enough to say that." Draco grumbled, relieved that the hand clamped around his loosened.

"Just play nice."

"Fat chance."

"Draco...."

"DRACO!" Another red head, this one missing the uniform angular curves of her brothers pounced him. Soft breasts pressed against his face as she practically straddled his lap. "You're alive. Oh Merlin, the message said you were, but it was in code and I was sure I was reading it wrong! Oh, you're alive, you're alive."

"Get off of me." He ordered, trying not to betray his fear. Too much movement too quickly and it was nightmarish. Shame warred with real fear. The hug ended, as she noticed Draco's clear discomfort.

"And dead men walk on the good earth." With Ginny moved to the side, it was easier to see Bill.

The youngest and eldest Weasley had grown more alike in the intervening months. Egypt had left its mark on fair skin so many times it must have finally yielded until they were both well tanned. Their brilliant hair had lightened in the intense sun, taking on golden highlights. Their work might mean a lot of time inside, but it was clear neither had gone idle, toned muscle twisted easily under their skin. Twin aspects of the same sun god, they dominated the room easily outshining their brother. At his side, Ron unwound, clearly happy with this development.

"And that's when I thought of you." Bill was saying to Hermione, when Draco returned his attention outward again.

"I can't accept this!" She protested, caressing what appeared to be a golden scarab.

"But you must." Snape cut in smoothly, his tone even and deadly. "They are powerful gifts, especially when inscribed."

Cautiously, Hermione turned it over and ran a finger over the inscription.

"It just says that it will protect the wearer. I only thought you might want to throw some spells at it since they're rumored to work so well." Bill's easy confidence frustrated Snape's attempt to send him black looks. His determination to stare down the older Weasley distracted him from Hermione's glances between the two and the secret smile that curved her lips.

"Thank you, Bill. It was very thoughtful of you."

"Hello?"

"Dean!" Squealed Ginny and she was throwing herself around him and Neville was up to pump the other man's hand.

"Don't tell me that Dracula is back from the dead!" The deep rumble slid easily under the lighter Weasley tones.

"A spectacular resurrection that we can explain as soon as we've got everyone here." That was Ron, who seemed to simultaneously be hugging Ginny, shaking Dean's hand and answering Bill's questions.

"I think this is everyone."

"What?" Ron's head snapped up.

"I said, I think this is everyone." Hermione repeated.

"It can't be....what about Fred and Charlie?"

"They can't leave right now. Fred's favorite has eggs about to hatch and he won't be moved from the nest." Gently said by Bill, but it spoke volumes and everyone was quiet for a moment in mourning for what had been.

"What about Seamus?"

"He's backpacking through Europe." Dean replied with just a touch of scorn. Some break there then, separating the two friends. "He thought we'd manage just fine without him.'

"Justin? Tanya? Philoum? Shacklebolt?"

"He's an Unspeakable, she just became a mother, she returned to Rome. He's been missing since about a week after the last battle." Hermione intoned. "This is who we have to work with, Ron and we couldn't ask for a better group."

Except that was exactly what he'd been doing. Anything more than this bare handful would have been something. Draco might not remember exactly what the encampments had looked like, but he knew they had been filled to the brim up to the very last. Buzzing with activity and life, even as the hospital tents swelled with casualties. There was always someone new to take a fallen soldier's place, always loyalties being sworn, oaths made. The trail edges of one memory suggested a time when they had been crowded out of their own tent.

"All right." Ron took a deep breath and settled back on the couch, carefully not touching Draco, who was still shaken from Ginny's assault and the sheer glut of people present.

"This is what we have so far."

The long explanations and conversation that followed flowed over Draco. He concentrated on his parts, explaining clearly as much as he could remember. When he talked about the prison, Ginny moved from her chair to settle at his feet. Distinctly not touching him, she sat just close enough for her warmth to reassure him. For a moment, she could have been Percy and the thought made his gut twist.

"You're waiting on the last spell?" Bill asked. "Why?"

"I only found the right counter spell last night. I didn't want to alert anyone at work by using a sick day for the first time since I got the job."

"You should do it now." Neville suggested, picking at his nails. "If he knows something that might be useful."

"Might be?" Bill snorted. "We all know how useful Draco was, especially with that thrice damned book."

"And if I don't want to remember?"

"We need to know what happened to the Grimoire." Hermione reminded him. "If it's fallen into the wrong hands..."

"Where do you get your dialogue? Wrong hands....what if we are the wrong hands?" Draco curled up, pulling his legs away from Ginny's gentle presence and his hand from Ron's. "That book is meant to be lost."

"This is not the time to be having existential angst. You have information that we need if we're going to rescue those people." Bill crossed to him, and nightmare images flashed unwillingly before him.

He'd grown too used to Ron's gentle touches and slow movements. Hermione never approached him except to spell him and Snape had never exactly been physically affectionate. He had fooled himself into thinking he was well. Obviously, he thought as he cringed away, he had been mistaken.

"Bill." Ginny warned, not rising, but making her presence known. "You're scaring him."

"Scaring him? Ginny, this is Draco Malfoy! He followed me into a battle against the Dementors."

"That was in a different lifetime. Look at him."

Honey colored eyes swept of over the shaking lithe body. They were met defiantly with clear grey.

"Bill couldn't scare a first year if he was armed with a boggart."

The barb glanced aside as the oldest Weasley started to look guilty and then shook it away. He slid past his sister to sit on Draco's other side. He lowered his voice.

"What did they do to you?"

"I can't fully remember." Draco bit back. "And I'd like to keep it like that. But I suppose I have little choice."

Bracketed by male Weasleys and the soft presence of the woman at his feet, he barely winced when Hermione slid her cool wand tip to his temple.

"Be gentle. I bruise easily."

"Remember yourself. Evesicate Menonseme."

//

"Ha....ha....harder...."

The light stemmed through the window dappling across the bed. Draco dropped his forehead onto crossed arms, trembling as Ron thrust slowly home again. One calloused hand cupped his hip while the other moved languidly over Draco's erection. For the past half hour they'd been indulging in a long slow fuck. Draco's body felt completely alive, every nerve sensitive to touch. He bit into his arm as Ron drove in harder, the hand on his hip moving up across his back, lingering gently over a large purpling bruise.

Living in the Warren was a surreal counterpoint to the war, making their lives into a strange duality. Their days and most nights were spent in potentially fatal situations from missions to out and out battles. Just yesterday, Rosie Parkinson had died at the point of Draco's own wand. As she fell her flaxen hair fell over her face and it could easily have been Pansy lying there in the mud. Draco hadn't had time to do more than say her name before he was engaged in another fight. The bruise was from landing on her twisted bones when the next combatant sent him sprawling.

When they weren't actively fighting or plotting, they were in the Warren. Here they lived a dreamy domestic null time, floating between letter writing, reading, long bike rides or jogs and sex. Lots of sex. Sex like they might never shag again.

"All right, all right...." Ron chanted softly to himself, a sure sign that he was nearing his end.

Slowly, Draco pushed up until his back was flush with Ron's chest. The angle was slightly awkward, but the shift jarred deeply inside of him and this way he could lean his head on one strong shoulder.

"Fuck me." He ordered in a hoarse whisper.

A low growl met his words and soon they were both over the precipice. Panting and sweating they separated slowly, sinking onto the sheets. Wonderful drowsiness settled them. Draco sprawled out with Ron curling into his side. One calloused hand spread itself over Draco's concave stomach.

"When are you going?" The sleepy question curled into his ear with a hot pant of breath.

"A few hours." He picked idly through brilliant red hair, enjoying how the sweat held tousled locks at crazed angles. "But then I'll be back for a few days."

"How do you know?'

"There's bound to be a lull with both sides going full throttle for so long."

"Both?" Sleepy monosyllabic question, but Ron was famous for thinking deep thoughts post-coital.

"Both, of course....we've been laying it on thick, so have they...." He hedged.

"I mean....we always assume two sides, but it's more like...."

"There's a side for every individual on either and some more that we don't even know about."

"Exactly."

"That's what I've been trying to explain to you for ages. I am always and will always be entirely on my own side."

"At the moment, you're on my side." The point came with a small smile and Draco snorted at the poor joke.

"Our side." He allowed. "But it started as mine."

"Sure. I wonder what sides we don't know about."

So many, my dear, Draco thought to himself as he nattered some nonsense. Before he had left, he had seen the slight factioning already beginning. Knew that his own position as Executioner would no longer keep him at his chosen elevated status. So he'd poisoned his father's tea and spelled Percy into a coma, stealing the book only the three of them had been allowed access too. Sometimes he missed his father so much it was a palpable ache. He even spared moments for Percy, who had in the end been a shrewd companion, guarding Father with all the protectiveness of a female bear for her cubs.

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"I'll wake you up to say goodbye." He promised and watched Ron fall into an easy sleep.

War made it easy to sleep, so often deprived of that basic need were they. Draco knew that others were plagued with nightmares and guilt in their quiet hours. He and Ron slept like children and he wondered how much of that was the sleep of the just for Ron and a complete lack of conscience for him.

Once he had thought that he was righteous. He had held others' lives in his hands and if they stood in the way of his Lord, they did not see out the hour. It was only as he began to read the Grimoire and realize the depths into which he was sinking that he began to question. Graphic tortures finally reached the part of him left long buried and dead.

But it wasn't until it became abundantly clear that his Lord was quite willing to kill any one of his followers as well as the enemy that he'd made plans for escape. ïSave your own skin' was the informal Slytherin maxim and Draco had embraced it. Of course, the other side was no more loving or forgiving though they had starrier eyed ideals. They used him as a tool just as he had been. Slowly, they had drawn him in, used their friendship and love as bribes until he was more dedicated to them than his own cause of survival. Initially, the realization had set his skin crawling, but by now it was a fact of his life and he planned accordingly around it.

Usually he would have kept good on his promise, shaken the other man awake and brushed a kiss on his cheek before he went off again. The moonlight wasn't flattering that night, betraying every wrinkle and shadow on the freckled face. Ron needed what sleep he could get. Moving to his office, he started a letter to Fred and Charlie, outlining the football match they'd had at one of the encampments. The two were currently stalking McNair, ostensibly to find some other Death Eater hideouts, but obviously hoping to get revenge for George's murder. Then he flipped through a few pages of "Revising History, An Art" that Severus had sent him. The gruff older man had settled on showing his appreciation for Draco's presence by continuing his education.

He reached for the Grimoire, drawing it forth from its hiding place. It fit into his hand perfectly, solid and reassuring. The sucking grasping magic it had been exuding lately returned. Draco closed his eyes and breathed shallowly as the book clung to his skin and crawled into his veins. When he opened them again, the Grimoire was gone.

Then, without a backward glance, he slipped out the front door and apparated to the coordinates Lupin had given him.

A sick twist in the middle of his transition was the only warning he had. He landed hard on a cool marble floor that he had once played marbles on.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise." A glittering hand was offered to him. Draco leapt into a crouch, surveying the area.

The diminutive figure of Peter Pettigrew was flanked by Ernest Goyle and Tristan Zabini. The latter regarded him with a cool rage.

"Behold gentleman. We have before us the great Executioner," drawled Pettigrew as he tapped eerily silver fingers against a marble pillar. The delicate pinging sound rattled through Draco's teeth. "Fresh from Hogwarts he quite handily kills not one, but two members of the Order. Doge and Diggle if you'll both remember."

The two larger men both nodded imperceptibly.

"Our Lord was so pleased that he bestowed on him the title of Executioner and showed him great favor. He raised him above the older generation among us, concerned about what he considered to be their past betrayals. "

Here Goyle grunted as if in some remembered pain and Draco had to repress a smirk. There was no time to revel in past glories. He was sending out tendrils of magic. He knew better than to reach for his wand, doubtless the second he drew it some automatic spell would disarm him. Escape seemed unlikely. With a heavy heart he began to set up his failsafe.

"How ironic it should be then that it would be this one who betrayed him the most. Draco, once Malfoy now disinherited and dishonored, you stand in front of a jury of your peers and you have been found most guilty and will be made to suffer for your crimes."

Zabini strode forward, pressing his wand tip to Draco's sternum.

"You killed my son. He looked up to you, he followed you and you murdered him in the name of the Order. For this you will suffer and in your suffering you will betray all your secrets. Including the location of the Grimoire."

"Misah Reqab." Name a thing to invoke it. Name it backwards to banish it. Childish and simplistic to be sure, but Baqer's spells were devious in their simplicity. With the trigger spoken, everything to do with the Sumerian and his book were wiped clean from his mind.

"Where is the Grimoire?"

"What's a Grimoire?"

//

"Draco?" A hand on his shoulder shook him back to reality. Draco moved into Ron's solid arms and pressed his face into his neck.

"I should have said goodbye. " He confessed quietly, aware of their audience.

"Don't. No regret, right?"

"Right." Regret wasn't something Malfoys felt as he'd often informed Ron when the other man had asked one too many questions about his past.

"Do you remember where the Grimoire is?" Hermione asked eagerly.

Slowly, he regained awareness of the room. Bill was pressed up against his back, Ginny wrapped around his legs, burying him in a pile of Weasley that he'd always resisted, but found himself in the middle of on more than one occasion. Neville and Dean were whispering quietly to each other about Merlin only knew what while Severus and Hermione had turned their inquisitive minds to him. Squinting, he could make out Harry floating in the doorway.

"It's not the kind of thing you lose track of." He slowly peeled himself out of the mound of Weasley flesh.

"Well....where is it?" She pressed.

"Patience, dear Athena." Slowly, he sank to his knees and brought the familiar book to mind.

Red leather cover, embossed in gold with the cuneiform signature of Baqer Hasim. As he focused, he began to cough and shudder. Immediately Ginny was at his side, but he shrugged off her touch.

"I need to focus." He said roughly.

He drew the cover back to mind, each detail and scratch until his teeth chattered.

"Baqer Hasim." He gritted out and the force of the last cough threw him forward onto his hands.

With a heave and a full body spasm he retched at last. Instead of bile, a miniaturized tome landed on the floor, expanding as soon as it was free. The pages ruffled slightly in frustration until it cleaned itself and sat, pristine and sinister as ever.

"It was in your stomach the whole time?" Hermione audibly gulped and looked a little green around the edges.

"Don't be ridiculous." Gingerly, he accepted the glass of water Neville was pressing into his hand. "You said it yourself: the book is spelled to take the most useful form for the time. That was why it was trying to bond with my flesh. The last few days before I disappeared, I was experimenting with what would happen if I let it do what I wanted. It started to shrink and eventually disappeared into my flesh entirely."

"So it was in your arm?" Neville hazarded.

"My mind. It could protect itself best from there. The Grimoire has a very dedicated survival impulse. Have to admire that. It aided my mindwipe."

"Merlin. And that didn't bother you?"

The cool slide of pure magic through his veins, soaking into his head. Visions and memories Baqer had tied into the essence of the text bursting through his mind. Painful, horrid tortures, but joyous revelries too. And then it was like nothing at all. A reference book whose pages he could peruse at will, but isolated in his mind.

"No. Not really."

He was aware of someone picking up the text and he lashed out, grabbing their wrist.

"Draco!" Hermione tried to twist out of his grip.

"What?" He looked at his grasping hand in surprised and released her wrist slowly. "I....I don't know what came over me."

"You never did like being separated from the blasted thing."

"I think that Draco does have some reason to fear its removal. " Severus commented. "Though there is no need to resort to the physical."

"Fear, nothing. I bled for this book. I kept it out of reach from those you didn't want to see it. My life, my memories, my...."He glanced over his shoulder to Ron and let out a long shaky breath. "The Grimoire stays with me."

"That might make some things a bit harder."

"Then we work around them." Ron reiterated. "Now, I believe we have plans to finalize."

"I think I need to get some air." Draco clutched the Grimoire to his chest and staggered upward. No one moved to stop him and he gratefully took his leave, going outside to sit on the wooden bench by the door.

"I hate you." He told the smug red leather.

A slight wind picked up, ruffling through his hair and easing the heat that had flushed through him earlier. Closing his eyes, he tried not to think.

"Chilly out."

Draco nearly fell of the bench.

"Damnit, Longbottom. If you're going to sneak up on a man at least have the decency to warn him."

A small smile and a silent request to join him on the bench was the only reply. They sat together in silence for a while, Draco absently tracing the gold engraving with too long fingernails.

"Can you fix it?"

"Fix what?"

"The whole....partially demonic thing you have going on."

"I'd actually....managed to forget that for a few moments." He sighed and leaned against the grass wall. "I'm not sure. It'll take more time then we have at the moment to figure it out. It's not a priority."

"Ever the military man."

"It's just practical."

"Exactly."

"What are you trying to say?"

Neville shrugged and fished around in his pocket.

"Here. I thought you might like this."

Delicately Draco took the proffered square of paper. It was a wedding photo. Looking entirely happy and flushed pink, Neville and his bride waved at him. On one side were Hermione, some random Gryffindors and the Weasley clan. The closest Neville had left of a family; his grandmother had perished fairly early in the war. The other side was strangers, but clearly American by the looser and brightly colored robes. A traditional black carriage dominated the background, it's paint job marred by white letters" "We remember those who are with us in spirit."

I was dead, he realized fully for the first time. They thought Ron was in a coma permanently and that I was dead. He thought about Harry, Lupin, Tonks and Shaklebolt. It should be him lying among the dead. They had been decent people, fighting for what they believed in, not to save their own hides.

He fished for something to say.

"You look happy."

"We are. That's why we're leaving."

"You realize that makes no sense."

"England is full of bad memories and as long as we stay it's our name in the papers every time we go out to eat. The people here aren't ready to let go of the war. "

"It hasn't even been a year. You can't expect people to just move on as if four years of battle never happened."

"I don't. But I don't have to make my family live with it."

"Running away." Draco accused.

"Absolutely." The smile wasn't what he expected, but Neville was good at catching people off guard.

"You always did have an interesting spin on Gryffindor bravery."

"It's not anyone's bravery. School's out, Draco. It has been for six years. I'm not a Gryffindor anymore, no more than you're a Slytherin.

"I'll die a Slytherin." He said firmly.

"Of course, but will you live as one?"

"Is that supposed to be deep?"

"Come on you two!" Someone called from inside. "There's work to be done."

Standing, Draco moved to hand back the photo.

"Keep it." Neville said. "We've got tons."

Long lashes nearly winked at him and then Neville was drifting back inside, leaving Draco to his thoughts and square of smiling faces.

)*(

Page 128

To Separate a Werebeast

 

Anything that can shift from one form to another, be it by will or curse, can be separated from their beast. It is just a matter of slicing the magic the right way. The process is usually painful and can be fatal to one shape or another. I have used this to cure afflicted weres and tearing about fey who have attempted to take arms against me.

)*(

"Ready?"

Ron slid his wand into a holster at his hip and a dagger into his boot.

"Ready."

Draco completed the last adjustment of his spelled robes, grateful for their familiar weight. There were dozens of pockets for weapons and potion vials. His wand slid easily into a wrist holster. Specially tailored robes, the only remnants from his time as the Executioner, needed some adjustment for his lost muscle. If only he'd thought to wear them that last mission....but regrets were not for Malfoys.

"You know you're gorgeous in those robes, but I think I'd pay good money for you to never have to wear them again."

With the heavy black cotton settled around his shoulders, Draco felt more himself than he had since the day was captured. Possessively he curled one hand around the sleek leather belt to which a variety of tiny darts and a blowgun were attached.

"They serve a purpose." He said curtly, turning slightly to let them flow around his legs.

"Hey. Hey....look at me."

With a sigh, Draco turned, glancing into dark brown eyes.

"What?"

"We're going to have time now. To not be....this." Ron gestured at his own dark robes, which were nowhere near as complex and layered as Draco's, but far from ordinary. "Figure out who we are without them."

"What if I like who I am with them?"

"And who are you with them?"

Draco turned away, starting the slow series of spells that locked the Grimoire in its hiding place, but he could feel the stare between his shoulders. It seemed to him, now that he had the full palette of his memories stretched before him that since the end of school he had been two people. Draco Malfoy and the Executioner. It was the Executioner who took to the fields in lusty battle, who killed coldly, requiring a nausea trigger to fake caring for those he'd laid low. In black robes and a cool smile, the Executioner had graced the presence of the Dark Lord and known when it was prudent to switch sides, scooping up the precious Grimoire and slipping into the night. It was Draco on the bike path before his memories returned, who quivering asked Ron if he was a murderer. It was Draco who would not implicate his Father in his defection through inaction. It was Draco who had been imprisoned for seven long and weary months. And it was Draco who wanted to spend the night having sex with Ron.

A deep and complex moment of existential angst. Unfortunately, there was neither the time nor inclination for it now. He blithely ignored Ron's triggering question and pressed onward.

"Let's go. We're on a time table here."

Wordlessly, Ron drew him close and kissed him until he yielded, moving against him fluidly. They pulled away in slow stages.

"On my mark." Ron said softly. "One, two....three."

And they were landing gently in a broom and cloak closet.

"Damnit, why does no one ever make sure there's enough space in these places." Draco whined in a whisper as he carefully untangled himself from several brooms and cloaks.

"Because recon is your job, remember? When you're first on the scene, no prior warnings."

"I hate being recon."

"Yeah, yeah, going to open the door before I get sodomized by this pile of splinter?"

"You'd probably like it." Draco muttered, fumbling for the knob, trying to wipe away a grin. It was familiar and good: the banter, the closet, the danger. It was life, vivid and visceral. He eased open the door. "Corridor. Got the information right on that. No one visible."

"Light?"

"Bright. I can't see anyplace to duck in."

"Portkey?"

"Under my thumb."

They crept into the hall that was far too bright and sterile. Everything was the same stark white, making it hard to pick out details.

"Left." Ron gestured and Draco followed him silently down the hall.

Sure enough it ended in another corridor, this one carpeted and painted a buttery yellow. Shiny wooden doors sporting nameplates and rubber plants next to them littered the walls.

"Medi-wizard Adams, Vimes....Banks...." Draco muttered, struggling to keep his anger at bay. "Nurses' Lounge....this is how Severus got in last time while Hermione was distracting Banks and Adams."

"Then the zoo must be through here." Ron pointed at the last, unmarked door.

"And our good medics must be there too."

"Time to steal some documents."

"Vimes first."

"I thought we agreed, get evidence on the creepy ones first."

"I have a feeling Vimes is going to be the one with the really interesting stuff."

"I'm glad you think so. Quite flattering really."

Draco shut his eyes and rubbed them.

"I hate being on recon." He muttered again, inching his wand into his palm. He could feel Ron tense next to him. They could portkey out, of course, but they both had questions and who knew what answers the slender man standing in the doorway of his office might provide.

"You know, I went through a lot of trouble to get you both out of here." Vimes commented dryly. "The least you could do is stay gone."

"You sprang Ron. I was nearly terminated as I recall."

"Who do you think allowed Ms. Granger into the building with her dubiously forged papers? And made sure that Professor Snape went uncontested onto the floor?" A small smile sent a ripple of danger through Draco. "You might want to come into my office before my colleagues get back."

Glancing over at Ron, they had a quick conference of shoulder rolls and blinks. They settled on going in, portkeys and apperating coordinates held tightly by hand and mind.

In Draco's imagination Vimes' office had always been very traditional. A wide oak desk, shelves of medical texts and maybe a few photos on the desk. There might even be a signed quaffle on one of the shelves. Instead it resounded with the same horribly clinical feel that his cell had had. There was no window, the walls whitewashed and bare. The desk was old and the wood deeply scarred. It was littered with papers and nothing else.

"This looks familiar." Unbidden a chill came over him, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Does it not?" Vimes allowed a small smile. "Now why do you think that might be?"

"Don't try to tell us you're a prisoner here too. You have too much power for that." Ron had taken out one of his daggers and was casually cleaning underneath his fingernails with it.

"Deceptive amounts. I have some control over what goes on within this building." Vimes didn't seem troubled by the threat, settling in the hardback chair behind his desk.

"And you can leave it."

"No." Delicate shoulders shrugged. "I got my information about the outside world from newspapers. "

"You told me about matches you'd gone to. You mentioned a wife."

"Fictions. Couldn't have you thinking your physician was little better off than yourself, now could I?"

"So who is it that's keeping you here? Adams and Banks?"

Vimes snorted. With ease of long practice, Draco fell back and let Ron do the questioning. He would chime in if he felt the need, but this wasn't his area.

"Hardly. I think you'll find they're bound here as much as their ïpatients'. "

"Are the three of you cursed too?"

"That would depend on what you would consider a curse."

"Look, we don't have time to mince words. You've got all the cards, but you're smart enough to know we could get out of here any time we want. So what do you want in exchange for information?"

"My freedom. I want to walk out of this place free."

"The way I figure that's mostly up to you. Don't get killed and I see no issue with that."

"Don't kid yourself, Weasley. When you do the investigations they'll find my handiwork mixed in with Adams and Banks. I want a full pardon."

"And what makes you think we're capable of doing that? You should know that we're not exactly in favor at the moment."

"Then you'll have to set something up. Those are my terms and they're not up for negotiation.

Ron glanced back to Draco, who dipped his head in agreement.

"Done. I'm afraid you'll have to settle for a verbal contract."

"There are charms...."

"Look, you're not going anywhere if we don't spring you anyway. So give us the information and find some faith."

"Faith...." A weak chuckle painted Vimes a lot older than Draco had thought him. "Very well."

"Great. Feel free to start talking at any time then."

"My full name is Tamasine Vimes. I am an accredited mediwizard and officially I work for the St.Mungo's High Security Veteran's Wing. It ostensibly oversees to it that our dear war heroes who, for their own safety, have been relocated to a more secluded location.

"Unofficially, this facility has no name. It exists entirely in verbal or spelled contracts. It has been around for generations working in one capacity or another for the Ministry. Most recently is has been a repository for some of the more unsavory consequences of the Ministries most infamous."

"You're an Unspeakable." Ron growled.

"Worse." Draco finally chimed in. "Their maid. They're containing the messes the Unspeakables must have manufactured along with the ones Voldemort made. They both had access to the partial spells from the Grimoire."

"We were already containing our own when we found the dungeon Voldemort had been using to store you. In fact, Mr. Weasley might remember when we originally found you. He was there."

"I think I would know if I'd seen something like that."

"You were in the upper levels of the manor. A very interesting battle, that one, a lot of casualties."

"Malfoy Manor." Unconsciously, Ron reached up to touch the side of his neck. "They were protecting some of the areas with vampires. It was a long fight and in the end there wasn't even anyone there. They'd abandoned it days before we'd gotten there."

"And left prisoners there to die. We were the only facility prepared for them. Of course, no one was expecting Draco to be among them. As the last known holder of the Grimoire, it was obvious to the Ministry that he must be kept until we could discern the book's location. After the last battle, they picked up more traces of the Grimoire's peculiar magic and insisted that your catatonic body would be best seen to here. "

"Who is this ïthey'?"

The papers on the desk rustled slightly, too far from Vimes' hands.

"The Ministry, of course. Don't bother asking me who or what within them, it doesn't really matter. Anyone who made those decisions is now holding on to power by the thinnest of margins. There is a new force moving and they're looking to shake things up."

"What force?"

Concentrating on not looking at his target, Draco casually unfolded his arms, deftly palming a vial from his belt.

"I don't know that either. All I know is that we were ordered to liquidate the facility. Banks and Adams don't seem to realize it yet, but that is going to mean our termination as well. The nurses can be oblivated, but the three of us have been involved in this too long and too deeply to be anything but a liability. Starting just before that order, I was receiving messages from an unknown sender. They were short and cryptic, but they were insistent that a new era was upon us and that I was to ready myself for a jailbreak."

Vimes was breathing erratically, Ron with only the slightest alteration in speed. Someone else was taking occasional deep breaths. The kind that were intended to be silent.

"So Fudge is finally getting the toss over. Took long enough." The dagger worked at paring a nail that had gotten particularly long. "I suppose we can forget about this whole business then. Just let the rebellion march on in and take care of things."

"A load off my mind." Draco chimed in amicably as he moved slightly to the left.

"You can't just leave us!" The mediwizard was quickly on his feet. "These people could be anyone! They might have the same plans to kill everyone in this facility."

"Oh, I don't know. Seems to me that if they keep sending their blithe little messages into what's supposed to be a top security project like this without anyone noticing they must care a lot. Takes some crafty spell work, that." Casually, Ron winked at Draco. "Who knows, they might even hire some old war heroes who have seen better days."

"A nice desk job, no murder accusations. A bunch of kids in the yard and a wife to come home to." Draco smiled, slowly uncapping the vial. "I think that sounds just fine."

"You must help us."

"Oh, it's ïus' now. What happened to you being one of the experimenters?"

"I am, but that doesn't mean I don't feel compassion for those under my dubious care. They don't deserve to die." Pleading eyes darted between the two.

"I don't think we ïmust' do anything. Especially not at the risk of our own life and limb with a convenient party waiting in the wings to step in, take the victory as theirs and lock us both up for a good long time."

"They aren't like that!" Vimes protested. "I mean....I assume that they aren't...."

"Why don't we just ask them?" Before anyone could answer, Draco dumped the fine dusting powder out, roughly in the area to the left of the desk.

A great deal of it fell uselessly to the floor, but enough of it clung stubbornly in midair. Enough for Ron to spring forward, pinning the invisible man to the floor, dagger pressed to this throat.

"Viva la revolution." Draco said wryly to Vimes, who stood stock-still unsure of what to do next.

"Give me a hand down here."

Wand drawn, Draco rescinded their captive's invisibility, keeping his eyes firmly on Vimes'.

"I do love a family reunion." The mediwizard said.

That startled Draco enough to allow himself a glimpse over. Face bright red as his hair, Ron was straddling a very familiar figure.

"I thought you were dead!"

"Yes, well. Ron seems intent on making you correct."

Percy Weasley squirmed under his brother's meatier frame looking only slightly better than he had the last time Draco had seen him. The frail body had gained back some of its pre-war weight, but the face was still gaunt and haunted. The horrible malformed bone and sick flesh that was his left arm lay limp.

"Forgive me if I'm a bit suspicious." Ron hissed. "You betrayed our family, the Order and anything else that got in the way of your power. You should have stayed missing. I don't know how you're involved with this whole mess, but it's going to end badly for you and your Master."

"I have no Master. Vimes orchestrated my escape along with a few others during the confusion that Draco's disappearance caused. I didn't want to leave until I was sure I could get everyone else out." He winced as Draco kicked his wand away from his good hand. "I've been trying to contact old friends. A lot people aren't content with the way the Ministry's been doing things."

"You could have contacted me." The toe of Draco's boot edged into Percy's hand, no pressure applied, but the promise of it.

"How would I do that? It was like you disappeared."

"So you expect us to believe that after everything that happened you still know enough people in the Ministry willing to follow you?" Ron shifted and judging by Percy's face it wasn't comfortable.

"Despite how you feel about my actions, others thought it was the right thing to do."

"You and your gang freed Lucius Malfoy. Not the kind of people I want in charge."

"Getting Lucius out had nothing to do with them. They disowned me after that. Only my imprisonment and subsequent repentance got them on my side at all."

"I don't like it." Ron spat. "I'm not charging into battle for you."

"Then don't do it for me. Just go ahead with your plan, get those people out of here and save your reputation. You know you're going to do it anyway."

"You don't know me." Ron slapped Percy with a resounding clap. "This whole thing stinks and I want nothing to do with it."

"Then they'll die." Percy's eyes tracked away from Ron and up to Draco. "Everyone who spent those long weeks with us in the dungeons. We swore oaths then, we kept each other sane. "

"Oaths made in near madness by a known traitor. Tell me, how did you wind up chained beside me?"

"Lucius abandoned me."

The first lesson of any good assassin is to never feel pity for your victim. Draco had been a good assassin. His stomach clenched. Older than the both of them, Percy managed a childlike sadness that Draco doubted he had the ability to feign. Sighing, he dropped to his knees.

"When?"

"Around when you were recaptured. But I knew he was.....Nicco was always around and Lucius stopped talking to me like he used to. Then one day, he and Nicco were just gone. He took a lot of his notes on the Grimoire with him. Without him...." Percy paused, taking a few breaths, shifting under Ron's tight grasp. "They just took me. There was no one left to protect me."

"You know that he would have taken you with him if he could." It wasn't speculation. Percy was invaluable to his Father, a completely loyal and dedicated servant, who was clearly quite in love with him and thus, easily manipulated.

Percy, who, in the thrall of a complete breakdown, had called Draco Lucius and promised to be a gentleman.

"That made it worse."

None to gently, Ron elbowed Draco.

"What's this got to do with anything?"

"We're taking him back with us."

"Like hell we are!"

"If he's got the contacts he says he does then we're going to need someone to keep us informed. And if he doesn't...." Draco shrugged. "He's family."

"He gave up that right." Ron spat.

"It's not a right." Lucius spelling him so he wouldn't give up any of the Light side secrets blazed in his mind. "It's blood. You want your family to be my family, fine. I don't do things by halves."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Ron broke away first, sighing.

"Fine. I think we've done enough recon for one day. Vimes?"

The mediwizard was still standing in the exact place he had been when Percy was captured, too afraid to move.

"Y-y-yes?"

"You never saw us."

"You'll come back? Please...."

"We will." Draco answered for them both as Ron got up and dragged Percy to his feet. Draco picked up the older Weasley's wand and tucked it into his belt.

The portkey fit into his palm and he held it tightly waiting for the suction in his stomach.

It didn't come. He tried apperating. The room stayed firmly still.

"Ron?"

"Nothing. We're going to have to walk out of here." The growl made it clear that Ron was reaching the end of his notoriously short fuse.

"If they've blocked magical exits, it has to be temporarily. And that means they know we're here."

"Lockdown." Vimes contributed. "It's an emergency set of spells that take hold when we have an escape."

Draco and Ron went very still, their gazes flying to the door.

"What are our chances of just hunkering down here until they can't maintain the shields anymore?" Ron asked.

"Piss poor. Automatic shields don't need a casters power. They could last for days."

"Looks like we're going to have ourselves a fight."

"Remember the original plan?"

"Can it be modified to two?"

"Three." Percy put in. When Ron glared at him, he stared right back. "I want to help."

"Believe it when I see it."

"Four. My life's forfeit anyway. Adams and Banks will kill me if they get their hands on me now. Consorting with the enemy."

"Four." Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "How do we get out?"

"The only thing that doesn't close off is the floo in the kitchen. That's designed only to transfer inanimate objects, it won't take people."

"The specifications for that design were never approved!" Percy shook his head. "It's too easy to modify it one way or another."

"You know how to modify it?" Ron looked skeptical.

"Of course. I did the paperwork on it."

"Of course. I just love when everything works out like that."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," warned Draco.

"Too good to be true means it probably isn't. You taught me that."

"And I was right, but we don't have time to go over other choices. The longer we give them out there, the more time they have to gear up. Where are the kitchens?"

"We have to go across the floor and down a level."

"The floor. You mean the zoo." The dagger was back in its sheath, but Ron drew out his wand, which looked far more sinister at the moment. "So we cut through the cells, down into the kitchens, Percy modifies the floo and we're out of here. "

"Simple plan."

"Not everything can be an elaborate chess game. You gonna open the door?"

"Sure thing."

An easy slide pressed Draco up against the door, raising his hood and Ron ushering Vimes and Percy against the wall. Then he spelled out the light. The two veterans disappeared, their robes blotting them out of sight in the dark. Long fingers on the knob turning it slowly until he could hear it click over the blood rushing in his years. Exciting.

The door swung open nearly soundlessly, Draco pressed himself behind it and waited. Patience had never come easily to him, it had to be learned. One horrible blunder that nearly cost him an eye had taught him what years of classes, lectures and meetings couldn't. It never paid to rush in a fight. Only a finger length away, he could feel Ron's thrumming presence. Beyond him Percy and Vimes - their vast liabilities at the moment would hopefully be too frozen with fear to move.

After several long minutes, a lightened wandtip appeared and Draco smiled maliciously. A bulky guard soon followed the wand. In one slick movement, Draco dug his wand tip into his side.

"Stupefy." The man dropped like a stone, blocking the entrance.

He could feel Percy and Vimes trying to strain forward to see what had happened. Luckily, Ron was there to pull them back. With silent, but passionate feeling, Draco roundly cursed civilians. It was a familiar rant that he could run through in the middle of battle and function smoothly. Sure enough, another guard tumbled inside, stumbling over his mate's body, which was just a lovely convenience. He body bound the newcomer while Ron took out the one who followed close on his heels. After that there were no more.

Obviously they had wised to the ploy. With a light Imperio, Draco raised the men before him to their feet and commanded them to flank their tiny battalion. Using human shields was not a favorite technique. It was frequently messy and usually harder than one would suspect to move around them. Imperio was difficult to control when you were trying to cast a dozen other spells. He knew Ron didn't like it; sticky moral lessons about Unforgivables were never far from his mind. Not that he would protest at the moment, he never did in the actual fray, but afterwards, when the days of fighting lulled and they were smug and snug in the Warren, he would hear all about it. Sanctimonious prig, he thought fondly.

Concentrate, he ordered himself and used the impromptu shield to protect them as they finally made their exit into the bright, tiny hallway. There was no sign of any other enemy. In all likelihood they were waiting on the floor to see what they would do next they. They could afford to, there was no arguing their advantage.

"We keep the shield up and we take it as it comes." Ron whispered grimly into his ear.

"We need a plan."

"No plan here, Draygo. No time, no provisions for one. Coming?"

"Not until much, much later when this is all over." He replied bitterly and Ron snorted at the old joke.

"Innuendo before battle, you sure know how to make a fellow wanna live."

"I do my level best. All right, shield. March."

The human shield moved arduously forward coming to the double entrance doors. Fingers suddenly caught around Draco's wrist.

"Draco...."

"Shut it." He tore his wrist away. "Tell me when we get home."

Quietly, he commanded the doors open and re-entered the zoo.

)*(

Page 2

To Eat Death

The rest of this book is filled with interesting odds and ends, spells and counterspells. But this is what is crucial and this is what you have sought for. Here is the key to immortality. At the very point of death these two rituals can prolong your span infinitally.

One will allow you to feed off of others life force, draining their power as they lie dying. The amount of time this buys pertains more to the person's strength than their age.

The other requires the giving up of flesh. But what is one body or another? If done properly you will inhabit the new, younger and more virile body. I have not myself used this second method yet, but it has been my life's work to perfect it.

Both must be done with the utmost care as even the slightest change in the spells and potions could be fatal or crippling.

)*(

It was the kind of white that gave the eye no place to rest. No grooves or corners to settle on, just a blinding nothingness that sent the gaze skittering for anything to hold onto. The only relief was the patients, in varying states, who went about their imprisoned lives unaware of the constant observation. Here and there a nurse bustled in or out of a room.

The protective body shield met with no resistance.

"Not good." He muttered and Ron nodded his agreement.

They waited. Four heartbeats, ten, twenty. No attack as forthcoming. Grimly, Draco gestured the line forth again. Percy and Vimes were behind him, not optimal, but there hadn't been time to strategize. Instinctually, it felt better, meat shield before and behind, but he had long grown past instinct and felt too many knives in the back.

"How many guards do you employ?" He risked asking Vimes.

"They aren't guards. They're orderlies. "

"I don't care if they're golems, how many?"

"Six."

"Is there any possibility that the other two were in the office area?"

"I don't know."

"Fan-fucking-tabulous."

"Any idea about where Adams and Banks might be?" Ron spoke softly, but Draco could see him reach for Vimes' arm, gripping tighter than was strictly necessary.

"According to procedure, doctors are to find an isolated place and wait for the all clear. "

"What are the chances that those two will follow procedure?"

"Slim to none." Vimes said with a grimace.

"There!" Percy cried out quietly, pointing to a cell several down on their right.

It had gone opaque.

"Good, they're isolating themselves. Let's get to the kitchens."

They moved across the floor in hushed expectation. The single opaque cell attracted their gazes. Nearly clear of it, Draco turned to ask Vimes about the kitchen occupants when the doctor crumbled to the floor. The door to the cell had swung open and haloed in the blaze of light that was Adams, tall white haired and smiling kindly.

Draco and Ron fired off spells simultaneously, but Adams had the drop on them, clearly taking his extra time in the cell to build up formidable personal shields. Still, he wasn't a veteran fighter. He'd left himself open to more conventional attacks. Seamlessly, Draco reached for his blow gun, sliding home one of its insidiously tipped darts and sent it out while Ron distracted him with showy, useless spells. It sunk with a barely audible ïthunk' into the flesh of the older man's neck. Before the juice could do its work, Adams sent out a destructive paralyzing spell that leveled Ron.

"BEHIND YOU!" Percy warned, but it was too late. By the time Draco pivoted, he was struck by a strong stunning spell, sending him breathless to his knees.

Banks, hunched and wrinkled, smiled at him as the two remaining orderlies took out Vimes and Percy, who in the confusion hadn't even managed a single defensive spell before Adams appeared. If Draco could have drawn adequate breath he would have sighed. A pathetic attempt all in all and the whole matter could have been avoided if they'd checked for ïwire tripped' spells that no doubt alerted the rest of the facility to their arrival.

"And here we were trying to track you outside." Banks shook his head. "When we could have spared ourselves the trouble."

Stunning spells gave him the same feeling as when his foot would fall asleep, except all over. And just like the sleeping limb, it would slowly, painfully reawaken. The pins and needles feeling started to creep over him, but the Executioner kept his face blank.

"Sir!" One of the orderlies cried out. "Master Adams has collapsed."

"Probably poison. Leave him."

Unable to turn around, Draco was unable to gauge the import of this on the orderlies as they remained silent. He had naturally assumed that Adams and Banks were two of a kind, in cahoots with one another. Was it possible that they had worked together only in a professional, if what they did could be called that, manner? Trying to piece it together, ignoring the slow, hot tingling dancing over his skin, it was distantly that he observed Vimes and Percy being dragged off.

"Put them in Room 10." Banks ordered. "I'll deal with them later."

"Sir, what about the others...." One of the orderlies pointed to his still Imperio'd companions.

"Of course." Banks moved to them, undoing the dark magic and after a brief period of disorientation, directed them to take Ron and himself to adjacent rooms. "Best if they can see each other. One might be able to provide information about the reactions of the other."

Draco knew he could just about move his arm when he was taken up by two burly men, who, having been recently under his thumb, were more than happy to rough handle him into a room that was identical to the one he had left only a few weeks before. In fact, there was no reason to believe it wasn't his same room. The only difference was that no attempt was made to disguise his prisons' invisible walls.

With deadly efficiency they stripped him out of his robes, pocketing his wand. The orderlies locked the doors behind them, leaving Draco to crawl slowly and in a low-grade agony to the wall adjoining Ron's cell.

The red head had been dumped roughly in the center of his cell. Adams' curse had hit him in the thigh, spreading down both legs. Luckily, it had lost power there and Ron dragged himself to the wall. Without the amplification Vimes had preformed that afternoon, which seemed now an eon away, they were only able to see each other. Slowly and with a lot of repetition, they were able to lip read. The conversation they had boiled down to:

"Any way we can get out of this?" Ron enunciated slowly.

"You have a wand?"

"No, you?"

"No."

"I have no ideas."

When he felt able, Draco rose and made a circumference of the room. It was five meters long and seven meters wide. The bed was bolted to the northeast corner under the solitary window, which opened exactly ten centimeters. There was a desk and a chair both of an ugly yellow wood that reeked of pine fresh cut. That's where he had sat for every meal. A single shelf that would only hold a few books ran above the desk. The walls were painfully fresh white.

He tried the door, finding it firmly locked. Against better judgment, he used his shoulder and attempted the brute force technique, which failed spectacularly.

Disheartened, he slumped against the wall that separated him from Ron and wracked his mind for any potential solutions. He checked what they'd left of his clothing, a pair of black slacks and white t-shirt. Pale fingers drummed against the wall and pantomimed pulling a knife from the small of the back. He reached around and checked, but came up empty.

There only chances were if the enemy made a significant error or if they could stay alive long enough for the others to notice their absence and come after them. Reconnaissance was always given at least three hours for completion. Despite the interminable feel of their journey back into the prison, it could not have been more than an hour since they landed in the broom closet.

Tapping at the wall again, Ron drew Draco's attention to a few cells down where Vimes and Percy were beginning to rise. They had been placed together and the two were in deep conference, occasionally glancing over at them.

"Damn civilians." They should know better than to look as if they were going to include Ron and Draco in whatever plans they had. Better it should be assumed they were going to try to save their own hides.

Draco rested his head against the wall; brown eyes met his through a half foot of bespelled plaster. This was not their way. They were men of action or words, but not this heavy silence. In sheer frustration, Ron hammered against the wall, making Draco flinch and then sneeze.

A sneeze caused by dust....from the wall. He recalled his own futile battles against the walls on more than one occasion. They'd dented some, but never yielded. Then again, he was weak from months of imprisonment and was never much one for a physical fight anyway.

He tried to motion to Ron to do it again, but the message wasn't getting through. Sighing, he set to finding the exact spot where the plaster had broken. It bumped under his fingers and he carefully took aim. His fist embedded into the wall and when he drew it out, his knuckles were bloody, leaving drops of blood suspended in midair.

It didn't take long for Ron to get the hint. Percy and Vimes picked up on their strategy with a minute or two. Keeping an eye out for the orderlies and Banks, the four of them moved next to the doors of their respective rooms and started punching their way through cheaply made walls. Amazing how corners were cut in a bureaucracy, but this was distinctly not the time to complain.

Having the advantage of time and functioning legs, Draco got through first, knocking out the locking mechanism. The door swung open to loud alarms and he moved swiftly to aid Ron.

Banks strolled up the corridor almost immediately, flanked by the burly orderlies. Two of them peeled off, casting quick spells on Vimes and Percy, leaving the two useless lumps of quivering jelly. Draco moved into attack position, ready to do his level best with only speed at his advantage. There was an outside chance that he could get to the floo himself and alert the others to save those he'd left behind.

He moved fluidly across the floors, shaking off the last of the old stunning spells. The doors to the kitchen were a far off Mecca, at least twenty meters away. He dodged two stunning spells and a few paralytics when he heard all too familiar charm. The one to unravel the Wunderkind.

"You must be joking." He choked out as a tearing pain started in his chest.

It figured that his mutation, which he thought such a significant and special punishment, was only a variation on something done a hundred times. They'd spliced him with some kind of lust demon, incubus or succubus and that was all.

Only a few meters away, Ron was watching in abject horror. Dimly, Draco tried to see what was happing to his own flesh, but the split seemed to be in his back, sending ripples of agony through him. Pain stretched seconds into hours, but it was a mere minute before he was finally freed of the beast he'd carried with him for so long. Emptied, exhausted and weak, he slumped against an invisible wall, trying to muster the energy to open his eyes.

Unbidden the image of the dead fairies, lying limp on their child hosts came to mind. It was the fairies who died then, the shock too much for their tiny systems. But a demon was a lot stronger than a fairy and he felt a deadening lassitude sweep through him.

He heard a few screams, a garbled whimper and the soft whisper of Sumerian spells. Then silence. He opened his eyes.

The monster he supposed had been ejected from him was nothing of the sort.

Standing a few feet away, a petite man was fastidiously wiping blood from his naked body with what appeared to be one of the orderlies' shirts. Several of the bulky bodies lay strewn around his feet and Banks made a curious statue, hunched and bewildered.

As the man spelled another pristine white shirt to fly from its owner into his hands, Draco peered under his eyelashes. Smaller than most men, but still too clearly human to be a gnome or a dwarf, his skin was dark and his hair a wavy black mane that fell across his shoulders. Completely out of place in the sterile white, an earthy scent flowed from his body that bespoke a time that had long gone to dust. Without much effort, Draco could imagine him decked in gems, sitting on a throne of gold.

To add to the unreality of the moment, the man was sporting an erection as though the killings he had just committed had aroused him.

"Do you know me, worm?"

The rich deep voice was not meant for English. Though he spoke it with fluency, his mouth warped around the syllables, giving them a strange, uneven cadence.

"Baqer Hashim." He sputtered out. Behind him, Ron was slowly peeling away at the plaster, trying not to draw attention to himself.

"So you are not entirely without a mind." Baqer stretched, smoothing his hands over his chest, stomach and thighs. He seemed delighted with each bit of flesh he encountered.

"You said you would burn!"

"Oh, but I did. An army had been raised against me, strong enough to peel the fear away from my own people. Only my private retinue remained loyal to me in the end, my beasts and mind-wiped companions. It was much more efficient to start over. But I was infamous throughout the known world. I would have to bide my time." He moved with a predatory grace, circling round to Banks, knocking against the stone with a small pleased grin. "This one is not in my book. I took it from you."

"I don't know how to do that."

"Not anymore." With an ease born of practice, Baqer stroked the stone cheek whispering softly and tapping it with a slender short wand. It crumbled to dust. "I took what I needed from you. So many new spells you pale fragile wizards have! Stolen of course from civilizations greater than your own. Greece, Rome, Egypt, Sumer....relics now. The kings' and emperors' lines have decayed into ruin and all that's left in their place are petty would-be tyrants like your Dark Lord."

It occurred to Draco that this would be a very bad time to pass out, but he found his grip on consciousness rapidly failing.

"Stop that." Baqer ordered as Draco slumped forward, eyes closing. A spell shot through the air, knocking the wind from him once more. It was a healing spell, but a brutal and crude one that did as much damage as help initially. "I have need of you."

"For.... what?"

"As a liaison to this time. I have lived it through your eyes, but you have spent much of it imprisoned. It was intended that I would simply harvest your mind, but those fools who captured you broke my concentration at a delicate stage. And then you ERASED me."

The lights flickered ominously as Baqer shook with quicksilver rage.

"Even stuck in that blasted book, changing from clay to parchment to paper....even then I knew myself, but you stole that from me! I was aware, but anonymous. Adrift...."

Soft pieces of plaster rained against Draco's cheek, but he didn't dare look at Ron.

"My thoughts all tangled with your drugged, feeble ones. I could only surface when I found sustenance, living off of the sexual energy I could arouse."

Barely now could Draco recall the rapes, the times when he had flung himself on the closest flesh. All so this parasite could survive in his already taxed system.

"It was I who recognized my great work ruined by incompetence. For a single moment I knew myself, pushed through your feeble barriers and you told them how to free the Fire Head." He laughed suddenly, the lights stopped flickering. "You look surprised. Yes, that was I. So many things that you were so very proud of, all were me. The killings, the political maneuvering. I whispered them in your ears, set you in a place that would be useful to me. And even with all that couching, you could not remain strong. You had to flee to the arms of your precious resistance. And there too, I protected you from harm while you dallied in the arms of your enemy. You are weak and certainly not deserve the name of dragon that you wear so arrogantly."

The revelations did not make the impact Baqer must have intended because he frowned and studied the man before him. It wasn't that they hadn't startled Draco, but it was simply too much to process after all that had come before. His body was healing too rapidly and the pain left from the injuries spiked behind his eyes.

"As soon as you can stand you will take me from this place. I want to see the world again! To the Continent and Asia and America....I must know what has really passed since my departure, not the dry history, but how people have changed."

"And then what?" He coughed violently, frowning at the warm spray of blood that came forth.

"More life! Centuries of things to do and see....things to lay claim to. You have felt it or I would not have allowed you to become my vassal, no matter how bored I grew lingering in dry pages. That thirst to do, to conquer and to prove oneself. "

Steadily, Baqer kneeled down and turned over one of the dead orderlies. With surgical delicacy, he used his wand to cut away at the skin, peeling it back.

"What are you doing?" A dull sympathetic ache darted beneath his own flesh.

"Anatomy. You are all giants. I had wondered if something had changed in the body, something that would warp it."

Draco turned away as Baqer continued his operation. He tried to fight the nausea that surged over him and lost. Shaking and faint, he managed to regain a sitting position against the wall. It was a nightmare, he thought. But what about it made it nightmarish? Of course, anyone confronted with a megalomaniac who had been dead for millennia and was now trying to crack apart ribs without splattering blood on himself might imagine they were in some kind of bad dream. It was more than that.

Everything seemed like a horrible nightmare. From the moment he had left Hogwarts and first touched the Grimoire, his life had turned into some kind of frightening tale one might tell a child to scare them. There was never a point where he had been in complete control. Between Baqer, the mediwizards, various memory spells, Father and the well meaning, but scheming Gryffindors, he could not remember a day since he had last taken to the sky against Potter that he had made clear choices unmuddled by someone else.

He realized, as he slumped against the wall, the smell of his own upheaval and the noxious meaty scent coming from Baqer's experiment surrounding him, that he didn't want to live. The Draco he had always wanted to be was dead. That beautiful arrogant boy all silver and pale who would be a politician one day, his biggest problem who to invite to which dinner party, would never be. He wasn't going to marry Pansy, whose corpse littered a hillside in Scotland. He was never going to hold his son or daughter and give them the name of Malfoy with pride in front of his Mother and Father.

At best, he would somehow survive this and become slave to another powerful wizard, doing things he found disgusting. There was even a slim chance of escape, that they might somehow overcome Baqer. And what then? Some domestic life with a man he had never known in peace time. They fucked, they might even have loved each other, but that was before, when the world was going to hell and nothing could stop it.

Draco stopped caring and rose tentatively to his feet.

"You cannot be well already." Baqer spoke sonorously as he rooted in the man's chest, occasionally stopping to wipe his hands on a clean shirt.

"I have not been well for a very long time." Draco looked over his shoulder now. Still paralyzed, but not beaten, Ron had worked a hole nearly large enough for him crawl through and was even now making it through.

Baqer followed his eyes and laughing, sent Ron sprawling into a thick sleep that left him lying halfway out the portal. Not dead then. Good enough.

"I would like to go first to Stonehenge," mused the tiny dictator. "It is a place of great power."

Stumbling, Draco made his way to his side and sank down next to him as if in supplication. He noted that the earthy smell was more intense closer up. The wand he was using to spell open the body's secrets was a thin reed, its core rattling dully inside.

"What's inside of it?" He asked for something to say, nodding at the wand.

"The hair of a beast long gone to dust that survives not even in your legends." A sidelong look from dark eyes and a slight mischievous smile. If not for the air of power and age that wrapped around him or the bloody thing at his knees, he could have been any young man kneeling in the nude before a lover in heated anticipation.

Draco turned to survey the damage around them, eyed Percy, Vimes and Ron, all sleeping. The pile of dust that had been Banks and the corpses of the orderlies. He found the one who had stripped him. Idly, he went through his pockets and found his and the others' wands. Being reunited with it had been one of the best moments of his life. To be whole again. Now he stared at it like it was a foreign object. He leafed through the Grimoire that still lingered in his mind. Countless spells of torture, the advanced rituals that would become the Death Eaters' lifeblood. Basic spells, really, tortured out of more advanced ones. Baqer had written them down because in his day they were the great works of the world.

Doubtless, like any great planner, he had kept many from those pages. He would have hoarded some things, mostly protection spells. But Draco had spent a lot of time pouring over those pages. He had felt the stirring of Baqer in his mind and could identify those times now that he knew who had been moving in his brain. The defenses would be only slightly more elegant than offensive spells.

Of course there was no telling what he had ripped from Draco's mind while he leafed through it like a potion's text. Not even a hint at what he might have forgotten when Banks signed his own death warrant.

He rolled his wand between his fingers and thought about dying. There was a spell that froze the heart. It had originally been a hex to freeze a specific limb, but some Dark Lord or another had twisted it to this efficiency. It was only a few centuries old and not often seen in books. The wand went up and rested its point on the tip of his chest.

"What are you doing?" The amusement was clear.

"Healing myself."

"My spell was not good enough?" Anger laced through the tone, but Draco wasn't paying attention.

A faint breeze brushed against Draco's cheek just before the ghost materialized.

"Who's your new friend?" Potter peered myopically through ghostly glasses. This familiar gesture in the specter, forced Draco to bite back a hysterical laugh. If he started, he might not stop.

"The author of our favorite text."

"You were the one stuck in the Fire Head." Baqer rose, circling the air that Harry occupied. "The consequence of irresponsible magic."

"You can call me Harry." Ghostly fingers twitched, reaching for a wand that had not made the jump to the afterlife.

"The coward dragon remembered you. Full of power and nearly my equal." A triumphant smirk. "Brought down by your own recklessness."

"Draco, kill him." Harry pleaded.

He could imagine it. The killing strike....but he felt so tired. So deathly tired of trying to figure out who was right and who was wrong. Who was the devil and who the angel. Like the long ago talk he'd had with Ron, he could see all the petty shades of grey, all the sop history used by both sides to disguise pure stubbornness and guile. What was another body? He'd said to himself on so many occasions. Had that been Baqer? Or his own pathetic attempts to justify the coolness he'd felt after the Executioner gave back control?

Baqer was no good, of course. But so were a dozen others in the psychiatric ward of St. Mungo's where he was bound to wind up should he attempt to take over anything if he wasn't killed by overzealous aurors first.

"He cannot. Without me moving beneath his skin, he doesn't have the fortitude to raise a hand against anyone," Baqer sneered. "The Executioner, the doer of all dirty work for the side of Light. Your precious ally. That was I. All that you detested and required in him."

It was absurdly easy to turn his back on the scene. Dimly, he heard Baqer continuing his bickering with Potter, but neither registered. He spelled open the door to Percy and Vimes' cell.

"Ennervate." He ordered and Percy blinked awake. Draco pressed a finger to his lips for silence and put the wand he had taken from another orderly into his hand. "Baqer has risen. Kill him. Any modern spell should do. Keep Ron safe."

Keeping silent, Percy's face asked a thousand questions.

"Think of it as penance."

He rose swiftly and cast a strong silencing spell, then a blasting spell. The courtyard his cell had overlooked spread out beneath him. Levitation made him sick, but he had nothing left in him but to move on. He cast off, floating serenely above the complex, noting that is pathetically small. Little more than a redone office building with indifferent gardening. He sailed easily through a hole in the wards that would permit the coming and going of food through the lone floo and then apparated away.

)*(

It wasn't the blacking out that he minded, so much as the coming to. Ron groaned as the dull thud of his headache made itself known. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and found the ceiling of the bedroom in the Warren. They'd been rescued then. He sat up slowly. Someone was moving around in the kitchen, not Draco who would never let a cabinet door close with such a thud.

"Hello?"

It was Percy who came to the door and for a long second, Ron could not reconcile the face to the moment. He was sure that he was still unconscious or dreaming because he had sworn that Percy would never enter his home.

"You're awake." A statement of fact as prim and proper as ever. Even the crazed hanging limb did nothing to offset the stiffness.

"Apparently. What happened?"

"He killed Baqer." Harry floated in, moving through Percy much to the other man's obvious discomfort.

"He what?" Ron started at the ramrod posture. "Where's Draco?"

Percy coughed uncomfortably and Harry scuffed his feet in mid air.

"He's not..."

"NO!" Rushed Harry. "No....no we don't think so."

"Don't think....what the fuck happened?"

"He left. " The hard edge in Harry's voice was the same one he'd used every time someone deserted, which had been more often than anyone liked to admit to. "He was about to confront Baqer, but instead he actually ordered Percy to do it."

The special emphasis on his name caused a stiffening in the older man's jaw, a hard glint coming to his eye.

"Ordered....and what, watched him kill him?"

"No. He just left. Used a few spells to escape. We've no idea where he's buggered off to."

"Did he say anything?"

"He asked me to kill Baqer. Told me how. And he asked me to protect you."

Reaching for glasses that had long gone missing, Percy paused and just rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"He couldn't have just left. Not after everything. He's always been there. Even when he was an amnesiac!" He struggled to sit up, tossing aside bedclothes. "Something's wrong, I have to find him."

"And if he doesn't want to be found?" Percy moved to the door, hesitating at the frame. "He left for a reason and I don't think that will change."

"They'll change for me!" Ron moved from the bed, propelled solely by furious energy. It was familiar now, the pulse of rage, and he'd learned to feed off it in lean times.

"He betrayed us," wheedled Harry as he moved in front of him. "He left you behind."

"Not before setting his guard dog on me." He jammed a sweater over his head. "For Draco that's nearly the same as doing it himself. He's always had a thing for lackeys."

Percy offered no protest, but turned a slow deep red.

"So what....are you going to tear around the world looking for him?"

"Why not?"

"For one thing you need to have a press conference! Everyone knows now that you didn't kill me. Once Percy took out Baqer, we went through with the plan. You being unconscious made it look even better. I watched from the crowd. Dean and Hermione gave long speeches attesting to your character and...."

"I don't care if they're pinning the first Order of Merlin Negative One class on me. I'm going to find him. I didn't last time and look what happened!

"The situation was completely different."

"Harry, is there a particular reason you don't want me to find Draco?"

"I asked him." There was a window open and Ron was dimly aware of some bird mating call screaming through the woods and of Percy, lingering like a ghost himself in the doorway. "I asked him to kill Baqer and he just walked away. He was one of our own."

"He was never one of yours!"

They turned to Percy, whose face was still beet red.

"He did a good impression then." Harry said dryly.

"Draco was like his father. He made his own side, he did what he thought was best for himself and he never lied about it." He was clinging to the frame of the door, white knuckled. "He's not like you two. Or me." A bitter chuckled took Ron aback. "He's not weighted down by loyalty. Doesn't wear it like a chain that will burn all it touches if it's taken off. Malfoys are loyal to a point. They do the best they can without giving away all they are. "

"You sound like you approve," accused Harry.

"I do." He released the door slowly, drawing his hands together. "What good are you to someone if you leave nothing of yourself to protect them? If you give away everything you are, then your loyalty is no longer worth anything. And those that expect that kind of absolute loyalty will always burn out those around them. "

"What do you know? You don't know Draco. He's brave and fierce..."But Ron was already recounting so many of their conversations. Draco's side, his frustration with the war not for the death, but what it had taken from him.

"Maybe you're the one who doesn't know him." The old smugness burned away, Percy just looked tired. "After all, he's always been a little bit of someone else."

At the moment, Ron thought he meant Baqer, which was disturbing enough. To share one's bed with someone like that sent chills up his spine. But as he flew, port keyed and apparated his way through all of Draco's potential hiding spots, he wondered if maybe Percy had meant something more obscure.

"Wait." His older brother had demanded right before he slipped out the front door.

There had already been the confrontation in the bedroom and then a long argument with Hermione in the kitchen where she had been very quiet and reasonable and he had screamed. Snape had watched the whole thing though Ron couldn't imagine what he was even doing there in the first place. When Hermione had exhausted herself, Snape reached up and grabbed his wrist with the surprising strength he rarely showed.

"Find him and bring him back."

It nearly held him in place, just to be contrary, but it was Draco he was looking for. Draco who was lost and this one time he could do something that would be agreeable to himself and Snape. He'd nearly been out the door when Percy spoke softly and pulled a letter from his pocket.

"This came this morning....there's no telling how old it is. The owl was ordered to find me, no matter how long it took." All of Percy's body language screamed that he didn't want to let go of the missive, but he tucked it into Ron's hand. To avoid further delay, he'd taken it.

Thinking about Percy, he waited until the currents shifted to even levels and withdrew the thin parchment from his pocket. It was addressed in a neat vaguely familiar cursive:

Percy Weasley Wherever this Might Find Him. Destroy Should He be Found Dead.

Ron was many things, but a snoop wasn't one of them. He had more important things to worry about.

)*(

The first thing he did was break into the broom shed. It felt exactly like old times, except he didn't have two bulky shadows. And then he wouldn't have been breaking in. He liberated an old school broom whose make had been top notch when he was in school, but was now regulated to first year flying lessons.

He took to the sky over the Quidditch pitch with an ease that should have surprised him were he capable of feeling anything. The time release Snitch winged out once he had done a practice lap or two.

He had never been the best Seeker, but he hadn't been a slouch either. Gaining altitude and speed, he soared after the gold glimpse. There was a certain quiet in the exercise as there always had been, even when the crowds had been full and he was thigh to thigh with Potter, their panting breaths nearly in sync.

Now, alone, that feeling was completely distilled. Perfect silence and he stopped thinking. It took him the better part of an hour to catch it. Harry probably could have done it in five minutes, but Draco wasn't thinking about the nearly dead boy. He cruised down, rolling off the broom and onto the sweet grass.

Constellations winked at him just as they had from the roof of the Warren. With a thin pale finger, untouched by Baqer under his skin now, he traced out his friends: Taurus, Perseus, Aries and Cetus. Hogwarts reared up in the foreground, as formidable and stern as ever. Dimly, he knew that he no longer knew most of the people who lived in its walls. Many new teachers filled old classrooms and the third years he knew when he graduated would be the eldest class now. He tried to recall these young successors, but he'd never had much of a memory for what did not immediately concern him.

Sweat cooled on his skin and the soft night breeze made him shiver. He got up, leaving the broom where it was and trudged out over the grounds. Hagrid's hut stood where it always had, looking as though it's owner had only gone out to feed his menagerie. Which was exactly what had happened, only that was two years ago now and the half-giant had never returned.

Ron had held Harry while he wept, glancing at Draco over one thin, shaking shoulder with eyes that pleaded for him to help. Despite the fact that Draco loathed the oaf, he looked through the Grimiore again and spilled his own blood for a locating ritual that should have broken through any shields they knew.

He had held his tongue when neither Harry nor Hermione, who had been wringing her hands and choking back tears, thanked him. Because afterwards, Ron had come to him and gotten down on his knees for the kind of gratitude Draco was always happy to receive.

Forcing the lock, Draco moved inside the hut. Someone had thought to throw out food at least, but they'd left nearly everything else the way it was, waiting for Hagrid's return. Sentimentality became Draco's practicality. He found his way to the massive bed, whispered a few spells to clear out the dust and sank into a warm, if slightly musty bed.

)*(

Page 63

To Read One's Future

Divination is at best a shaky subject thanks to the shaky nature of the future and the plague of charlatans this branch of magic seems to breed. The best way to know the future is to ensure that you are as knowledgeable as possible about the present.

That being said, spilling pig's intestines and reading the spilled blood has proven most effective when needs must.

)*(

In the before times, back when Draco had been an arrogant snot who'd just been taken down a peg with his Father landing in Azkaban and Ron was little more than a sparkplug sidekick making eyes at Hermione's newly budded breasts, they knew how to deal with each other.

Everyone knew about Malfoy and Weasley who might explode into hexes and punches with any slight change in the breeze. The two served many detentions, bloody nosed and jelly legged.

Then came the war.

In the dim dawn light, Draco stayed cocooned in Hagrid's bed, trying to tease out his memories of that time, trying on motives and personas to fit his actions. Who had he been then? The Executioner, some hybrid of Baqer and himself?

He had only been following the code of his birth, but he had left Father behind and Nicco. It hardly seemed like him.

And Weasley. Bedding Ron had to be the single most out of character event of his life. From a scheming ancient it made sense to be in bed with one of the more powerful movers of the war, but for Draco?

Ron was a symbol of everything he had ever despised.

Only he couldn't summon the energy now to hate anything.

He wondered if Ron loved him. It seemed a distinct possibility and the thought sat uneasily with him. What was there left of him now?

The memories of his long internment now stretched out intact, though thankfully the rapes had melted to vague fears and impressions. Baqer had clearly been feeding off of the sexual energy to keep his strange existence going and with his departure he had taken the memories of such feedings with him.

He had festered in prison, his only link to even the vaguest of sanities was Percy, who he had abandoned to his fate with the verbal equivalent of small pat on the back. Every insult that they had flung at him in his school days rang true. He was a coward, willing to sacrifice anyone to save his own worthless hide.

A part of him wanted to wallow in it, but he could just see his father's expression when he'd found him lying about the Manor bemoaning one thing or another.

"A gentleman does not languish in his rooms waiting for someone to come along and take pity on him," Lucius would say, dragging him to his feet and ordering the house elves to draw him a bath and get a change of clothes. "He dusts himself off and he puts on a charming smile, so the world never knows it got to him at all."

Then it had been a nuisance, another in a long line of familiar lectures. Now, it just seemed like sound advice. The only trouble was, there was no one around to see his charming smile and it was not the world that had beat him, but his own traitorous nature.

The man he was on this day was the man he was supposed to have become. Instead he was taken over, ridden by situation, magic and dictators. That was the man Ron might love. That brave, occasionally homicidal one, with his sweeping black and blistering hexes. Here and there, he could find himself peering out of his own skin. The competitive jogs and bike rides, the jumble of muggle stores as Ron dragged him through them....

Only small moments in the breaths between the storms.

Finally, it was his rumbling stomach that put an end to the matter. He would have to find a way to eat. Killing himself through starvation did not sound appealing and despite all his fear, death did not seem an acceptable answer nor was living here forever.

Without a charming smile, but two feet planted firmly on the floor, he set out to find food.

)*(

The cave was lit only by a few torches. Their light flickered unevenly over the rock and the air was dense with moisture. Tinged red and gold by this treatment, a relatively petit dragon wrapped herself around her eggs. Her breed dictated huge eggs and she'd managed it, small as she was. There were three of them, of varying sizes each roughly three feet tall and even in the dim light, Fred knew exactly, which one was which. He sat in the crook of the dragons arm, feeling as protected as one of the eggs.

Shana nudged him when he started to drowse, reminding him of their silent vigil. He kept his promise to her and stayed awake, mindful that this was her first clutch and like any new mother she was more than a little nervous.

The eggs had begun to tremble a little over an hour. Usually when a clutch hatched, there would be half a dozen or so keepers, hovering above the cave entrance, using scrying spells to keep an eye on things. Very few were close enough with any dragon to stay with her when her eggs were cracking. Charlie was one of them and he had taught Fred the ways to become close to a dragon. You could never tame them and Fred liked that about them. A dragon always did what they wanted to do.

"Oh, Shana!" He cried, pointing. "Here he comes!"

Keepers had already sexed the clutch before Shana had reached her most protective stage, two girls and a boy. Fred watched in fascination as one soft talon emerged. This first breach sent off a cascade reaction and the other eggs started to rock frantically. Fred watched in awe, stroking Shana's shoulder and whopping encouragement.

Within ten minutes, one of the girls split her shell wide open. She blinked around in confusion, covered in embryonic fluid and bits of eggshell. Shana pulled her over and was soon working her over with a long tongue. The tremendous pile of meat that Shana had been gathering for the past few weeks, augmented by the keepers, was soon being readily consumed. The second girl tumbled forth, much daintier than her sister.

"They look just like you." He reassured the humming mother.

But the last egg stopped moving. Alarmed, Fred moved forward. He could still hear weak scrabbling inside the shell and when he turned around, Shana was also expressing signs of alarm. Charlie had warned him about dragonlets, who, being unable to make it out of their shell, were stillborn.

A quiet whine from Shana spurred Fred into action. He certainly wasn't going to let some stupid decision by nature take Shana's first son from her. Frantically, he pulled at the tough shell, immediately his hands began to bleed, catching on the jagged edges. Ignoring the rush, he pulled until he had a big enough hole to work with. Then he reached inside and knocked at it from inside where it would be weaker. Fingers brushing up against the still struggling baby's side, he kept up a string of encouragement.

"Don't stop now, you're almost there. Keep fighting, it's all right."

Breathing hard, bleeding and the eerily light of the caves flickering irregularly over the iridescent shell made it easy to be thrown back into horrible memories. When it hadn't been his blood on his hands, but his heart had rushed and he talked encouragingly long after there had been something listening.

"Don't give up. Please, don't give up." He could feel his strength starting to fail and tears burned his eyes. There was nearly enough room, but it didn't seem possible....

Suddenly, the life inside the shell rallied and gave a tremendous push in the area Fred had been weakening. The crack echoed through the cave and an exhausted, but very much alive boy tumbled forward.

Shana took him gratefully to her side and after she'd licked him thoroughly, she leaned forward and licked Fred until he was laughing too hard and fell over. He lay on the soft straw, giddy with relief.

It had been too long since he had felt this good. After ascertaining Shana had everything she needed, he scrambled down the cliff side, skidding half the way and banging into the cabin he shared with his brother and two other keepers.

"Charlie! Charlie! They've hatched, all three. The girls have tucked away half the food already."

Charlie rose from the chair he'd been sitting in and clapped Fred on the back.

"That's great news. Of course, now I'll never tear you away from them. Dragonlets are a lot more fun than eggs."

"Do you think I could sleep there for a few nights like I did when Shana was pregnant?"

Charlie laughed.

"I don't know about that, we can talk about it later. We've got a guest."

"Someone from one of the other keeps?" Fred had grown close with many of the dragon keepers, keeping up strange, but lively correspondence with them all.

"It's me, Fred." Harry hovered in the door, looking more tired than someone insubstantial had a right to be.

"Hullo, Harry." He stayed where he was, reaching down to grasp Charlie's arm. "How did it go?"

"Everyone's fine. Ron's name has been cleared and all the prisoners are getting the help they need." He smiled tentatively. "I'm glad to hear about Shana."

"Thanks." Fred looked at the floor, trying to suppress a feeling of discomfort. It wasn't about Harry exactly, but what Harry meant.

"Look, I came to say goodbye." He crossed the room slowly like he was approaching a nervous dragon. "It's time for me to go and I'm lucky enough to get the chance to....so...."

"Oh." Fred cast a glance over at Charlie. His older brother looked almost angry and for once didn't even trying to detangle Fred's death grip on him. "Well.... goodbye then."

"Good bye. Fred." He hesitated, glancing over at Charlie and plunging on in obvious defiance. "I want you to know that I'll look for him."

He froze, eyes cast through the apparition before him and his breath caught hard in his throat. Tears came quickly to his eyes and it just wasn't far. He'd been so happy just a minute before, had completely forgotten and been in the moment.

"I'm sorry." Harry said immediately, "I shouldn't have...."

"Tell him...." The words caught in his throat. "Tell him that he's a wanker and a prat. Then tell him that I miss him."

"I will." Solemnly, Harry turned to Charlie. "Good bye, Charlie." "Good bye. Harry."

When the ghost was gone completely, Charlie turned to Fred, prepared to deal with the storm that usually followed such emotionally rough times. But Fred shook his head and managed a small smile.

"So can I? Live with the dragonlets? I can teach them so much...."

"Just what we need, pranking dragons." Charlie groaned, but then he smiled and started to look for a bedroll. Maybe with Fred out from under foot, Katya would spend a few nights with him.

Harry sighed as he let the winds take him.

"You've forgotten your hat again, your ridiculous prat." Ginny ran down the steps of the stone hut, waving a sensible beige hat at her brother.

"I didn't forget it, I'm not going to wear it. I've got plenty of sun blocking spells on."

"They don't keep you from freckling. If you keep on like this, you're going to become one big brown spot." She jammed the hat over her brother's head and then slapped him upside it for good measure. "If you think I saved your arse from a hydra just so you could get melanoma...."

"And I didn't take you to Egypt so you could badger me night and day."

"Could have fooled me, you won't find anyone else to do it."

"Well not all of us are lucky enough to find favor with the villagers." He teased.

Ginny flushed red and crossed her arms protectively across her chest. She couldn't help it if the locals seemed to like her....a lot. She loved the freedom of moving from place to place, enjoying the local young men and their strongly brewed drinks. It wasn't the life that her mother would have wanted for her, but it made Ginny happy.

"As if you haven't had your share. Leave a trail of broken hearts behind, you do."

They grinned at each other, randy bookends. They had no need for any one else in their home. Together they built something resembling the family they had left behind. She mothered him and he took her under his wing. Sometimes they would go to clubs together, brilliant pillars of golden red and freckles. The morning after, they would shoo out their respective partners. Ginny would make flapjacks light as air or fold omelets onto their mismatched dishware.

"There's work to be done, you horrid nag. Just because you've the day off..."

"I worked seven days straight because you couldn't read a damn sign....."

"It was in Greek!"

They bickered for a while longer, all the while Ginny curving her hand around her stomach. She hadn't decided yet if she was going to keep it. It seemed strange now, to be the bringer of life. There might not be room in their rough and tumble days for an infant. And she didn't want to lose this easy thing that flowed between them.

"Hello." In the beating sun of the desert, the ghost was barely visible.

"Harry! What on earth are you doing here? Has something gone wrong?"

"No...no. You heard about Draco?"

The siblings exchanged a look and Bill nodded grimly.

"I hope Ron finds him and knocks some sense into him."

"If anyone could, it's Ron. Do you really think he should?"

"Why shouldn't he?" Ginny demanded. "Draco was tired and injured and never much for a fight really without that horrid man in him. Ron knows him, knows what to expect of him and he wants him anyway."

"I suppose." The faint outline of a shrug. "Anyway, I just came here to say goodbye. I'm leaving soon."

"To where?"

"Whatever is beyond this."

"Good luck then. Be careful." Ginny warned.

"Listen to her, she gives halfway decent advice. Good bye, Harry."

The ghost hesitated and looked between them, as if waiting for something more. Then he shook his head and departed.

"Have we got any jam?" Neville shouted over his shoulder from where he squatted on the floor.

"It's right in front of you, dear." A tall slender woman with dark features and frizzy black hair called out from where she was packing up linens.

"Are you sure?" He leaned further in, searching deep among the cans. "Not the apricot preserve mind, the good raspberry."

"Oh for goodness sakes." She walked over briskly and leaned over him, pressing a jar of raspberry jam into his hand.

In an inspired moment, he dipped her in his arms and kissed her.

"Ah my lady love, whatever would I do without you?"

"Eat dry toast and buy too much jam." She replied calmly, though her cheeks were flushed and eyes dark.

"Truly a fate worse than death." He let her back up and set about making his toast, slathering an extra piece in butter for her.

"I don't know about that. Death is pretty bad."

Neville kept on buttering the toast, not letting on that he'd nearly just pissed himself. He could hear Clara gasp, then snort and walk out of the room. She didn't approve of ghosts in general and she hadn't known Harry in life except through Professor Snape's stories.

"Sorry about that, Harry. Clara isn't really one for ghosts."

The apparition sat on the counter and watched Neville's hands slowly steady as he started to make quick work of his toast and tea.

"I'm going." He said finally.

"Are you then?" From beneath the disheveled mop of hair, Neville regarded his long time friend and smiled. "Reckon you'll enjoy that then. Get to see everybody and all."

"I don't know what lies beyond...."

"Oh, somehow I think it'll be just fine."

"How can you know?"

"I can't. But you know what they say ïTo die will be a very big adventure."

They grinned at each other, for a moment young Gryffindors all over again with Neville finally in on the joke. When the grin faded, Neville reached over and patted the air roughly where Harry's shoulder would be.

"Good bye, Harry. Be well."

"Thanks, Nev. Enjoy America."

From the next room he could hear Clara rustling through her jars, sorting them again probably. She was quite nervous about them getting damaged in transit.

"Oh, no worry about that I should think. The company will be excellent at least."

They ended as awkwardly as they had started off, Harry finally giving him a slight nod before disappearing.

"Good riddance. People shouldn't just hang around after they die, it's unnecessary."

Neville shrugged, not turning to face her until he felt her body pressed against his back.

"He was my friend. I've known him for over a decade."

She kissed his neck.

"I know. I'm sorry." She tugged at his hand. "Let's go for a walk in the gardens."

"But the packing...."

"It will wait."

Neville had never been less sorry that he'd ïstolen' Clara from Professor Snape as she led him through their belonging stuffed boxes and out into their small bountiful backyard.

The charming flat that Hermione had settled was a horrid mess. She usually made a point of keeping it neat, though she had few visitors. Order was important and coming home to a clean flat had always soothed her. The Reading Room of the Ministry was a fine place to work, but despite orders and rules of quiet, there was always a low buzz humming through it. Some of it was the books themselves which liked to chatter inanely between them. There were plenty of books in the flat, of course, but none that wanted to gossip.

Right now there was nothing soothing about the place. It had taken on an atmosphere of barely contained chaos. Keeping up her full time job and researching in her every other waking hour had left little time for housekeeping.

So now that everything was essentially squared away, she could finally set about reorganizing her own life. Tying a kerchief around her hair and donning a pair of washed out ragged clothing, she tackled the living room. Quickly it came back to her how things had been before the return of Ron and Draco. For so long it had been just her and these walls, organizing and reorganizing her life.

Piling up texts to be returned to different libraries, she couldn't imagine returning to this. In the aftermath of the war, it had been lovely to have nothing more to think about than how to get all the stains off the ceiling. But she was not meant for an inactive life or at least not one that left her mostly on her own. Once it would have been her sole desire.

Growing up had changed her priorities.

"You look like a maid."

She nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Harry! Honestly."

The ghost smiled broadly and settled down a few inches above her couch.

"I just wanted to see how you were and to tell you, you know, that I'm going."

"Going?" She stood up and put her hands on her hips. "What do you mean going?"

"It's my time. I have to go. To the other side or something." He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

"Your time? What tells you that?"

"I just know, all right? I wasn't supposed to stick around as long as I did. This has all been gravy."

"And where exactly is there? How will you get there?"

He sighed.

"I don't know and I just will. Not everything is planned like that. Sometimes things just happen."

"Because not planning has worked out for us so spectacularly in the past." She folded her arms across the chest. "If we'd had a plan B you wouldn't be dead at all."

"We had a plan, it just failed. And I would have been dead anyway, even with a plan B."

"It was a stupid idea." She said shortly. "The whole damn thing. We never should have assumed Voldemort would try to take over your body. There's no evidence that he tried to."

"You don't know that...."

"I do." She tried to repress the tears that sprang to her eyes. "We did it because they were doing it, we wanted to be right there with them, pacing them. And it wasted your life."

"You're being too harsh, we couldn't have known...."

"But we did know! Just like we all knew that Draco was probably being held captive and we both told Ron to stop looking. We were too busy to be bothered with casualties." She sat down heavily next to him on the couch, tears rolling down her cheeks. "There is responsibility. And we have to take it."

"We were in the middle of a war, Hermione."

"And we let that take us over. You hibernated in the months after, I lived them. I saw who I'd become and I despised her. She put morals and ideals before her loved ones. "

"She was strong and did what was required of her."

"And never thought about it beyond that. I don't want to honor her, I don't even want to remember her, but that would just be cowardice." She squared her shoulders, swallowing back. "Go ahead and leave. It's not like you're really here anyway. Ghosts are just intrusions of psionic energy on reality."

"Hermione...."

"Good bye. Harry. Have a good afterlife." She smiled weakly at him and bent slowly to return to her cleaning. He kept trying to talk to her, but it was clear she had gone deaf to him. Disheartened and weary, he vanished.

When she was sure he was gone, she allowed herself a good long cry. Just as she was blowing her nose and considering returning to her cleaning, in a vague apathetic way, her floo signaled an incoming firecall.

"Hello? Oh, Professor."

"Ms. Granger. Ah....are you...." He paused looking distinctly uncomfortable and she realized she must look an absolute mess.

"I'm all right. What did you call for?"

"It seems Draco has been hiding out on school grounds. I was walking the perimeter today and noticed someone had taken up residence in Hagrid's hut. Weasley should be getting the post soon."

"That's great!" She forced a smile. "I hope he can convince him to go back to the Warren."

"For Merlin's sake!" He turned away briefly and Hermione heard some muffled shouts. "My apologies, the house elves have apparently thought I was in need of some feeding up again."

"Too much food?"

"Several days' worth." He paused, lips pursing. "I don't suppose you'd like some scones and tea?"

"I would love it, actually." She looked down at her cleaning outfit. "Let me just change and I'll floo over."

"If you wish." She didn't fail to notice the faint disapproval in his voice and had to stifle a laugh. If she'd known that Severus was as susceptible to scantily clad women as the next wizard, she might have tried that approach long ago.

It was too quiet in the Warren with no one else about. The sun streamed through the windows, heating the house unbearably despite the stringent cooling charms. Percy leaned over Draco's desk, writing neat missives to be sent out as soon as the owl returned. Notes to his associates. He recalled them clearly though he had not seen them since the night he'd stood outside of Azkaban. Leeta, Aaron, Julius, Francesca and Marcus who had come to him one night with papers.

"We need you to make some minute changes," Leeta of the golden hair had whispered.

It was late, most others had gone home. He knew the group well; they were peers in the Ministry's bureaucracy, assistants and gophers. The ones who pushed paper and took diction, did scout work that no one else could touch. They were anonymous, but they handled sensitive, important information every day. In short, the invisible power.

The scrolls they handed him were the kind of thing he was used to dealing with. Nothing more than a budget sheet, in this case for Azkaban's laundry which was portkeyed in and out at the end of every month. A slight change in the figures would not be noticed. It was enough to allow them to sneak a body out in that bin.

"Who?" He asked, trying not to be offended that they were surprised he'd figured it out.

"Malfoy," Aaron confessed, the others glaring daggers at him.

"I will do it, on one request: I want to be the one who takes him from that point on."

"You?" Marcus snorted, but quickly stifled it when he realized Percy was dead serious. "Why would you do something like that? It would mean the end of your career, if you're found out. Not to mention jail time."

"That is what I want."

And because none of them really wanted to sacrifice that much even if it meant getting brownie points with the Dark Lord, they'd let him.

Percy wasn't interested in the Dark Lord. His desire to be the one who set Lucius free was entirely centered on the man himself. Before his incarceration, Percy had only seen him a dozen or so times, most of those in highly public places at passing moments. But there had been one evening. He had worked late as always, too late really. No one else was around and walking through the empty halls twisted something foreboding in his gut.

Two voices rose and fell with irregular footing and occasional chuckles. Frozen, Percy looked around for an escape should the two prove to be some kind of burglar. There was none. Just as he was about to cast some kind of invisibility spell, Lucius Malfoy and Walden McNair staggered around the corner.

Horrified, Percy watched as the usually suave and elegant man he'd come to admire laughed helplessly and nearly brained himself on a candelabra. Long white blond hair tumbled over his face and his usually paper white skin was flushed. McNair was also in a state of disrepair, chortling.

"Oi, watch it there, don't need a dent in the skull." McNair advised, trying to steady his companion.

"What skull?" Lucius slurred. "I'm talking about flesh here, Walden. Do try to keep....Ah, look. It's a minion. Percy, isn't it?"

"I....uh....yes, sir." He stuttered out, flushing.

"I knew it. See, Walden, there can be something salvaged from every situation. Even one like the Weasley home. Percy here, good lad that he is, escaped them and has made something of himself."

The compliment was the first he'd received from someone in as much power as Malfoy and he felt light headed.

"Perhaps if he's so good, he'd take you off my hands. " McNair shoved his teetering friend in Percy's direction none to gently. "There's a good man. Take him to his portkey or I'll get another letter from Narcissa scolding me for leading her husband into vice."

"Yes, sir."

Lucius threw an arm around him and the smell of fine brandy mixed with some kind of cologne filled Percy's senses.

"Home, Percy lad. My portkey is in my office."

Left with no other choice, Percy moved awkwardly forward, supporting their combined weight all the way down the hall. It wasn't until they were nearly at Lucius' office and the older man had gone through four verses of a bawdy song that had Percy blushing that they separated.

To Percy's surprise, Lucius went from town drunk back to the aristocrat Percy had always seen from afar in only a few seconds. By smoothing back his hair, correcting his mussed shirt and whispering a charm that stole the blush out of his cheeks, it was if the whole thing had never happened.

"You learn." Lucius said softly, still standing almost unbearably close, "the most useful things when people believe you are incapacitated. Consider that a lesson in return for your assistance."

"My pleasure."

"Smell my breath - will I require another freshening charm?" The question took him back to days of being Oliver's roommate after a bender. He leaned forward obligingly and the sweet warmth was nothing like the fetid odor after a long bender.

"It's fine, sir," he whispered, the moment seeming to lend itself to quieter tones.

"Good."

For a brief instant, Lucius lips brushed over his own. Later, Percy would pore over the split second, centering whole decision on it. It was nothing more than the slightest of touches, but he was sure it had happened, even if Lucius had walked causally away after, wishing him a good night.

When he stood in the pouring rain and helped Lucius out from the laundry, he didn't see how the months in prison had ravaged the beloved body or made gaunt his eyes. Nor did the absence of the delicate cologne register. He only saw the man who had praised him and kissed him.

With the air of assurance he had learned from bureaucracy, Percy instated himself as Lucius' personal assistant, making himself indispensable. He didn't expect a repeat of that night though he fantasized about it frequently. Instead he spent his days caring for the man he adored with no hope of return. By extension, Percy came to like Draco, serving the younger man pot after pot of tea as he poured over notes and peeling back blood sodden clothes when he returned from a mission.

The reality of what Lucius and Draco did when they went out was known to Percy, but he never thought on it. They were passionate about their beliefs and he had long ago learned that nothing could dissuade people when they had convictions. He never tried to sabotage their plans and if he had it would only be so they would rest awhile. Neither of them slept as much as they should.

Even now, writing to his old cronies, his mind was partially on where Lucius was, how he was holding up in exile with a child to raise. Nicco had been a late addition to the household and Percy had given him a wide berth. Children were not his area.

Being abandoned had not dimmed the sentiment he had for Lucius because he had never expected anything else. He knew that to Lucius he was only a pawn. Useful, but easily sacrificed. When the post had come, he'd copied down the letter word for word, knowing that he'd have to give Draco the original. None of it was meant for his eyes really. It was only addressed to him because Lucius knew that Percy would find his son come flood or famine.

But there it was: Lucius was alive. Lucius was well. Now if only he could find a way to be by his side again.

"Still no word from Ron?"

Harry drifted in, staying a healthy distance away from Percy.

"No."

"He has to tell me where he is! I can't find him and I need to say goodbye."

Percy dipped his quill into the ink and raised the tip to watch drop after black drop roll off, before he formed a letter smoothly onto the letter he was composing.

"I'm certain you will get a chance." He intoned formally.

Personally, Percy had never seen the worth in goodbye. It was final, ultimate. Without one, it was like an endless conversation that had been only temporarily paused. He looked down at the letter, while Harry distracted him, he'd written:

ïDear Lucius,"

)*(

The Quidditch pitch was in darkness when Ron flew over it. High in the Gryffindor dormitories a light flickered, no doubt marking some bit of midnight mischief. It was more like coming home than any return trip to the Burrow. Guiltily, he promised himself he would visit his mother and father as soon as he'd gotten things straight with Draco.

He touched down perfectly in Hagrid's old garden. Expecting a grown over wreck, he was surprised to find that someone had made a little headway into it and salvaged some of the last of the summer's crop. It took him a moment to register that this must have been Draco.

The image of Draco on his hands and knees pulling weeds and picking tomatoes was so incongruous with how he pictured him that it didn't quite solidify. Shaking his head, he moved up to the hut and raised his arm to knock on the door.

With a perverse change of mind, he dropped his hand to the doorknob and tried that instead. It opened silently under his grip and the door swung open into the familiar cabin. The kitchen area boasted a bowl of fresh vegetables and the ceiling boasted a few bundles of drying herbs. Despite the smell being better than it ever had been in Hagrid's residence, Ron had a painful tug of memory. How many hours they had spent here hiding, getting information and mucking about in events that they could only dimly comprehend the importance of.

He turned slowly around, trying to reabsorb everything. When the bed entered his perception, he could make out the small lump under the blankets betrayed as human only by the soft wisps of hair that stuck out the top.

All at once the fatigue of his trip weighed down on him. It had been too long since he had rested. Gently, he set down his broom, stripped down to his boxers and slowly crawled into the bed.

He didn't want to wake Draco, sure that it would mean some kind of confrontation, none of which would be pleasant. Luck was with him and the other man barely stirred as he insinuated himself underneath the covers. Once he could curl around Draco, he could feel sleep tugging at the edge of his consciousness. Unaware and dreaming, Draco moved closer, throwing an arm over the hand that was slowly encircling him.

Ron woke to the familiar feeling that someone was staring at him. He cracked open his eyes warily to take in narrowed grey eyes and tufted blond bed head.

"Good morning." He mumbled.

"Are you utterly daft?" inquired the bemused face.

"Not so good then."

"I abandoned you! You're supposed to be hurt and hate me forever, not come and climb into a bed that you weren't even supposed to know I was in!"

"If you were trying to hide you could have done a damn sight better than right under the nose of the man who is notorious for finding people's hiding spots." He sat up slowly and Draco's face swam into sharper focus. He was kneeling on the bed, apparently having not moved since he'd gotten up. "I know you have some food around here, can we have breakfast?"

"Breakfast? You've gone completely barmy."

"Actually, I can sense we're going to have a talk. I'd like to eat before that. Also, take some kind of bath since I've been flying for several days straight looking for you."

"A bath? You will...." Then he sniffed the air. "All right....maybe a bath. What did you fly through, a garbage dump? I'm going to have to wash the sheets."

"I'm the one who's barmy? You're doing housework!"

That seemed to stalemate them for a long moment. Finally Draco sighed.

"The bathroom is there." He pointed to a door. "The water takes a few minutes to warm up. I'll make something to eat while you're cleaning up."

Mechanically they both went about their business. Hagrid's bathtub was huge, naturally, but the soap was new, clearly from Hogsmeade. When he came out, wrapped in a towel that could have easily made him two sets of robes, he found Draco laying out passable eggs and only slightly burnt toast.

"I spelled your robes clean." Taking the kettle off the stove, Draco was clearly intent not to look at Ron until he was decent. A little late to worry about modesty, but Ron felt absurdly grateful that he could fumble into his clothes without observation.

They ate in a strained silence. Well, Ron ate. Draco picked at his food and drank several cups of sweetened tea. Only once the dishes were done and everything cleared away did Ron feel ready to talk.

"Draco, I ...."

"Let's go for a walk." The blond was already on his feet and opening the door.

Dutifully Ron followed him as he walked away from both the school and the town, skirting the rim of the forest. Every time he started to speak, Draco would shake his head.

At last they reached a sheer cliff that looked down out onto mist covered valley. The sun was still rising, slowly burning away the wispy fog.

"You shouldn't have come." Draco said finally, sitting down near the edge.

"I had to."

"Why? To have me repent? To tear my hair and weep? I won't, you know. "

"Of course not. I should have....I never pretended you were anything other than you are."

Draco laughed.

"Because in the time that we were....I wasn't who I am. I was something else entirely."

"That's not true. I knew you before all this stupid shit and you were....you weren't that different. You might have gained some kind of battle bravery from Baqer and crazy killing edge, but none of that was what I liked about you anyway."

"Yes, it was. You liked that you had an equal, someone who could stand their own on the battlefield. Someone who would have your back."

"I had that. Harry, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, my brothers and sisters....I never needed another Gryffindor in my life. I needed someone like you."

"I left you to die." Draco stated blandly, picking at a blade of grass.

"You told Percy to take care of me when you were no longer capable of doing it. I know what happened to you when Baqer separated from you and that healing spell was laughable. You were weak and alone."

"Don't make a case for me. I'm not ashamed. I did what I had to do." He shrugged and slowly grated the grass between his thumb and forefinger. "I had lost myself and now I'm regaining."

"Is there any room for me in your life?"

"For Merlin's sake!" The familiar growl rose up. "Is it that you're not listening? I abandoned you when you were unconscious and left you in the hands of a powerful madman. I shared your bed when I was half of the same madman. I've betrayed you, done everything but stick the knife in myself. I had Baqer before me - I could easily have killed him. I wasn't too weak or too scared. I was just sick to death of the whole business. All this killing and blood, for what? It gives me no pleasure, it solves nothing and our whole little war that burned us out from the inside is already becoming nothing but a historical footnote."

"Why are you trying to convince me to hate you?"

"Because you should!"

"Maybe it's you who should hate me." Ron swiped at the first beads of sweat rising on his forehead.

"Forgive me if I can't follow your logic on that one."

"I forced you to change as much as Baqer did. I expected you to be like everyone else in my life when you've always been wholly different. After you came to our side, I was the one who saw you the most, knew the most about you and I never picked up on the personality changes caused by Baqer forcing himself into your body." He frowned. "Not to mention that I gave up on you. While you were still alive, I stopped looking when I should have never stopped. And even when I was literally right on top of you, fighting off your Father's minions, it never occurred to me to check the prisoners someone told me we had found."

"You couldn't have known...."

"That doesn't mean you can't hate me for it." Ron shrugged. "The way I see it we're even. Abandonment for abandonment."

"So where does that leave us?"

"Well, unless you're terribly fond of Hagrid's old place, I'd like it if you came back home."

"Home?"

At first, he could see the Manor rearing up in his mind's eye, all pristine white beauty. Its long halls were probably unattended in his absence. The property had never been seized, being bickered over by distant relatives. Perhaps, he could return there.... Of course, Ron had meant the Warren. Their small house under the hill, isolated and green.

"It's going to be quiet around there soon. Percy will probably stay a while." Ron sounded more than a little disgusted by this. "Until we can get him declared a living citizen again. And Harry is still drifting in and out."

"You want me back in the Warren. Just like that."

"It's ours. If you don't want to go back....I can't say I'd be happy about leaving it, I love that house, but I'd live anywhere you want to. Even if it's here."

"I...." Draco looked completely flummoxed. "This isn't how I saw this conversation going."

"If it would make you feel better I could call you betrayer and push you off the cliff, but I'd really rather not. Melodrama gives me indigestion."

"You know that the others will not feel the same."

"Some might be harder to convince than others, but I say fuck ïem. The beautiful thing about owning your own house is that you can throw people out. "

"They're your friends."

"And you're....you're...." Ron faltered. "You're just more, all right? And no, I don't know why. Maybe it's your looks or the way you hold yourself or that I've grown so impossibly used to you that not having you makes me feel like I'm missing a limb."

"Not much of a romantic declaration." The first hint of a smile curled at the corner of one mouth.

"Shut up." Ron said decisively, then leaned forward to kiss the edge of thin lips to enforce his statement.

They made out like teenagers for a long time underneath the heat of the sun. With fingers and tongue, Draco tried to tell him how much he felt, the jumble of emotions that Ron provoked without even trying, let alone at moments of decision. Affection, dislike, powerful attraction and fear. Overwhelming fear that fought with overwhelming lust. Right now, vying with the first erection he'd had and maintained in at least a year, if not more. The erection won, especially as Ron reached down and fumbled with his fly until he held it hot and heavy in his hand.

He could still feel the familiar calluses and it drove him crazy, the slight catch of roughed skin until he was thrusting up erratically, clenching onto Ron's shoulders hard enough to bruise. The orgasm that broke over him had him gnashing his teeth and his eyes rolling back into his head.

"You don't even like handjobs." Ron spoke softly into his hair, kissing the shell of his ear. "Will you pass out when I fuck you?"

"Only one way to find out." He panted, willing his body to make a swift recovery. It ignored him for the moment, luxuriating in the afterglow.

"Here, before I forget. Percy gave me this to give to you." From his pocket, he pressed a now tattered piece of parchment into Draco's outstretched hand. Holding it a few inches from his nose, he saw the familiar handwriting and read with a lump in his stomach:

To Draco Malfoy c/o Percy Weasley

My dear boy,

I have recently gotten news that you survived the war after all. Well done. I've been most busy while you dropped out of sight. There are some fascinating treaties that I finally have the time to read and there is Nicco's education to see to. I think it would be best for me to teach him rather than send him to one of the schools. They have all slipped in recent years.

I hope your long disappearance means you have reconsidered some things. Remember it is not only the phoenix that can rise again and again. The hydra springs two heads from the loss of one, returning with multiplied ferocity.

I remain your loving father.

 

That was all there was to the note, but it was enough to kill the remains of the good feelings he'd had. Frowning, Ron read the missive himself and cast it aside afterwards.

"Bloody bastard. It's over, why can't he just let it go?"

"And concede failure?" Draco snorted bitterly. "It's not the done thing."

Ron stood up abruptly, reaching a hand down to him.

"Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Back to the Warren. I don't think I could have sex in Hagrid's bed."

Draco let the hand tow him up.

"I'm not really in the mood anymore."

"Don't. Don't let him get into your head."

"He's my father. Whether I agree with him or not, he's ideas and opinions will always mean something to me."

"But not everything. And you don't have to follow him. You don't have to follow anyone."

"Not even you?" He turned away to ask.

"You never followed me. I never want you to. I'm a terrible leader, much better at following orders."

"So you want me to lead?"

"Or we could just work it out together."

"I suppose."

"Or we could go home and have some truly spectacular sex."

Laughing, Draco turned back around and gave Ron his first genuine smile in a long time.

"You know, that actually sounds just perfect."

)*(

When they finally emerged later, flushed and sweaty, Harry was waiting in the living room looking very put out.

"Don't glare, you'll get wrinkles." Draco chided, laughing a little at his own joke.

"I was trying to tell you that I have to go." The ghost swept insubstantial hair off his face.

Recalling the conversation that had taken place in this very room what seemed like months ago, but was in fact only a few days past, Draco sat down. Pulling Ron down by one belt loop.

"So you're just going to leave. Just like that."

"I'm dead." Troubled and tired, Harry settled next to Ron on the couch, setting a hand on his arm. Ron shivered and pulled away before he could stop himself. "This is no kind of existence."

"I don't want you to go." Ron looked helplessly down at his hands. "Other ghosts don't go. They haunt places forever - that is what being a ghost is."

"I'm not quite a ghost....it's not important anyway. You know I can't stay here."

Pale and drawn, Ron nodded, clutching Draco's hands so tightly that the blond would develop bruises afterwards.

"You'll always be my best mate."

"I don't think so." Harry glanced over at Draco with a mixture of displeasure and warning. "But try to just remember the good stuff, all right?"

"Harry...." he began, then seemed unable to go on.

"You'll be fine Ron. You don't need me anymore." He nodded across the bent head. "Be good, Draco."

The slow small smile was less a promise than a shared joke and Draco nodded shortly.

"Goodbye Ron."

"'bye Harry."

Resisting the urge to shudder, Ron wrapped his arms around the wispy smoke of the man who had been his friend and ally for more than half his lifespan.

Rising above them, Harry winked and smiled one last time before throwing open his arms.

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good!'

Nothing happened for an instant and then there was a quiet roar that while barely audible shook the room. Where the ghost had been there was a swift breeze that quickly dissipated.

"Did you hear that?" Ron whispered in the aftermath.

"It was rather hard to miss."

"What happened? Is everyone all right?" Percy rushed in from the spare room, wand pointed defensively in front of him.

"Everything's fine." Shaking his head, Draco started at Ron.

"I heard....men and a woman. They said 'Mischief managed', but it couldn't be."

"Are you quite sure he's all right?"

"It's been a long afternoon." Draco said softly. "Actually, long week, long few months....a very long lifetime."

)*(

Written on the inside back cover:

To Name a Thing is to Invoke It

Remember, my heir, my vassal, my new skin, that things end as they begin because they are not ending. There is no ending. There is only life, life, more life and life has its set patterns that it will follow until the universe itself has wound down. Even then it will not end, but be reborn and reborn and reborn.

I name this thing, I call it Immortality, I name this thing, I call it Life. I deny negation, cessation. We are what is new, we are the changing, we adapt and move and knowing the ebbs and flows of time, we control it. We who consume death, it is we who can truly see life.

)*(

"At the very least," Severus remarked dryly to his wife, "we shall not have to worry about misplacing our offspring from among the rabble."

"It is a bit....overwhelming." Hermione tried for diplomacy and nearly failed.

It was the first official Weasley family reunion since before the war and the family had increased dramatically over that time. This was only partially due to actual reproduction. The rest were those that had been claimed by the family over the years, including her own little family, the Longbottoms, Dean Thomas and several of the Weasley children's friends and co-workers. But there was far and beyond enough red heads to easily pick out their own dark haired children from the sea of red. They had already waded in, greeting the others they considered cousins.

"Hullo, planning on joining us?" Bill, heir apparent of the chaos that reigned below them, smiled jauntily, moving a squealing little girl from under one arm to another to clap Severus on the back. The older man frowned disapprovingly.

"We'll be there in a moment." She waved at the screaming child, who paused to grin back before returning to her protests.

"Say hello to Ginny first, she's sitting in a chair by the door pouting because she can't help cook." He laughed and moved to hang his niece by her ankles as she beat ineffectively at him with her fists.

"We'll be sure to do that."

The pair moved back to rejoin some raucous game or another.

"She should not have risked being pregnant again." Severus declared at once, heading down to the chair Ginny was sure to have been relegated to. "I told her at least a dozen times."

"I know, but she does have the best medical care and she so does want a boy."

"It is rather amusing that the sole female progeny of her parents seems unable to produce a male."

"Not amusing to her, I'd rate." Hermione said as they approached a decidedly grumpy Weasley female, swelled to capacity.

"Do you think she'll marry the father this time around?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

"I still say that there's something fishy about those two, living together with all of their illegitimate brats."

"Severus, it's a new century. No one calls them ïillegitimate' any more." She pushed him slightly. "Go sit with Ginny. If you keep her entertained, no one else is likely to bother you. I'll go find our hosts. "

Pecking Ginny on the cheek, she went off to hunt down her quarry, only to find herself tripping over a small red headed boy propped up on the back of Ginny's chair, who was reading a book nearly as big as he was.

"I didn't see you there." She apologized. "What are you reading?"

"Hogwarts: A History. Dad says that's probably where I'm going to go few years."

"You're George, right?" She looked around the room. "Is your father here?"

"No. Uncle Charlie and Aunt Tanya took me. Dad has a clutch to watch." He looked a bit miserable. "I wish he'd let me stay with him. I like being with dragons more than people. And we're supposed to stay here for days and days."

Hermione tried to remember what she could about the story of George's birth. Fred had hardly been able to handle a relationship in the first few years after the war and with Charlie with him nearly all the time; no one was quite sure how he could have managed it. The woman was a fragile slip of a thing, adored Fred utterly, but once she had found out she was pregnant told Charlie that she had no intention of becoming a mother.

The boy had been left by his mother a few hours after his birth and Fred had tried to be the best parent he could manage to be with Charlie and his wife Tanya serving as official guardians to both. George had been a sickly child and Fred usually insisted on taking him everywhere with him. This was the first time Hermione had had a chance to meet him since he'd been a baby.

"Do you like to read, George?" He nodded slowly, watching her from underneath trademark orange eyelashes. "Do you know who I am?"

"No."

"I'm Hermione. I work in a very big library."

"Uncle Charlie says that you're one of the most powerful witches alive." His eyes widened awe. "And you work in the second biggest library in England."

"That's right. How about you come to work with me tomorrow instead of staying here?"

"Yes, please!" The serious expression disappeared and the mischievous Weasley one that any child of the twins should have lit up his face. "Uncle Charlie will convince Aunt Tanya, so you better talk to him first."

"Yes, sir."

Smiling, she got back up and moved forward, this time watching where she stepped. Standing on tiptoes, she finally managed to pick out the lone blond in a sea of red and dark haired folk. She slipped in next to him as he turned away from levitating another platter out onto the already overloaded table outside.

"Ah, Mrs. Snape." He offered his arm and she took it gracefully, allowing him to lead her into the crowd.

"So, where are the reporters?" She teased, as he smiled and nodded in his patent rhythm.

"As if Ron would let me have them here." He snorted, dodging two rampaging children. "Probably for the best, if the public saw that I can't even manage this rabble...."

She laughed, nudging him slightly towards a less crowded space.

"You may be in the running for Minister, but the only one with any hopes of gaining the Weasley power is Bill or Ginny. More likely Ginny."

"She certainly follows in Molly's shoes, even if the matriarch doesn't approve.'

"I wish she would just accept Ginny's choices, but she and Severus are from different generations. They both think that it's sordid."

"It is sordid. But harmlessly so." He had grown his hair longer, she realized as they watched the crowd pulse through the house and out onto the lawn to the food. It brushed his shoulders now and he walked with a certain gait she couldn't recall from before.

"Have you seen Fred's son?"

"Yes, though it's easy to miss him. I'd like to see him with Fred, actually. I get the feeling that the two are quite inseparable."

"I told him I'd take him to the library with me tomorrow and that brightened him up some." Someone entered just as the last of the clan was filtering outside. "Is that who I think it is?"

Draco glanced over from his last minute preparations.

"Oh, yes." He smiled predatorily as Percy glanced at them and turned to head outside. Startled greetings could be heard filtering through the windows. Hermione rounded on Draco.

"How could you let him come? You're running against each other!"

"No we're not." He sliced a carrot evenly on the chopping board.

"Has he withdrawn? Have you?" She stared at him. "You have, haven't you? With all that campaigning and posturing, now you're just going to drop out because...."

"I am not dropping out. Nor is he. But it isn't Percy Weasley that I'm running against in this election." He shrugged scattering the carrots into the salad.

"What do you mean?" She took a carrot, munching slowly as grey eyes flickered up to hers.

"He is merely a figurehead for one who cannot run himself."

"Draco, you cannot be serious. I mean, it's not a well kept secret that Percy knows where Lucius Malfoy is, anyone in the inner circle of the war knows that. But what you're suggesting...."

"Is absolutely the case. Percy isn't nearly as good a speaker as my father was, but I can still tell who is writing those speeches. The actions he takes, the way he presents himself....they are all the very embodiment of Father."

"You're one to talk. Playing up the likeness a bit much aren't we?"

"People already think Malfoy when they see me. I might as well play into that in features and presence. As long as I say the right things, I will win." He frowned slightly. "The alternative is not acceptable."

For a moment, the reality of Lucius Malfoy as Minister in all but name came flooding in. It would be a return of the old ways from before the war. It would be slow, true, but they would all live to see the pureblood ideals reinstated. People were still susceptible to things like that even with all the progress made since the war. A prime manipulator like Lucius Malfoy could slowly undo everything.

"You must win this election."

"I have no intention of losing it." He shrugged, levitating the salad bowl out through a window. "Now we'd best head out to the table before they send someone looking for us."

She followed him, more than a little bewildered. They made it nearly to the door before a small girl came barreling in, reaching out to grab Hermione's robe to stop her headlong rush.

"Ron said to tell you to get a move on since everyone's waiting to make the opening toast." And then she was out again, shrieking.

The long table set up in the clearing in front of the house was packed with food. People sat on the long benches, on chairs shoved in on the sides and some of the children were gathered around a transfigured mushroom that served as a small table.

At the head of the long table, Arthur and Molly were presiding over the bottles of wine that were slowly making their way, glass by glass, into their children's hands. The two were beaming, both content to have their brood together in one place. Their only anxiety was for Percy, who sat in among the crowd, but was clearly not of it. Conversation washed over him, rarely directed at him. The outcast, the stranger, not wholly unwanted, but entirely alone.

Ron sat next to his father, rising when he saw them come to the table. He tapped on his glass several times until all was reasonably quiet.

"I would like to propose a toast!" Everyone cheered a bit. "To family and good friends!"

There was a lot of applause and some drinking and the buzz of talk had just begun to grow when Bill stood up, tapping his glass.

"And I would like to toast to the upcoming elections." Collective looks of shock appeared around the table. It was a given that politics were not spoken of around this table, especially with Percy there. "To the future and change!"

With considerably less applause everyone drank and the slow buzz of conversation returned. Bill ignored the looks sent his way and turned to his mother, engaging her in conversation about her garden.

Draco moved to get another chair and then yelped in protest as he was dragged backwards and plunked unceremoniously into Ron's lap.

"If you were under the impression that this would be tolerated, you are quite mistaken," he informed his captor.

"You've got carrot under your nails." Ron reached around him to grab a roll and bit into it with satisfaction. "Minister, sir."

"Don't call me that. At least, not for another fifty-three days." He struggled upwards, but found gravity and fatigue obstacles.

"You'll win." He assured him and popped a grape in his mouth. "Relax for today at least."

Glancing over one shoulder, Draco caught Percy's eye. Eyes hidden behind the sheen of his glasses, Percy's lips twisted in an ironic smile as he lifted up a glass in his good hand and saluted. It had been Draco who'd repaired his arm though he was unable to make it useful again. Had he known at the time that he was giving his opponent a leg up, he might have denied any knowledge of a counterspell.

"I'll relax when I'm dead." He did chew the grape, however and later when it was time for dessert was the first to start the traditional cake fight.

It wasn't until the wee hours of the morning when most of the guests had left and those that remained settled into guest rooms that it started to rain quite heavily.

"Good timing there." Ron muttered as he sealed some of the leftovers. Looking up from spelling the dishes clean, Draco moved towards the window.

"We've got a leak."

A minute trickle of water was gathering on the sill and running to the floor. Draco watched it for several long moments.

"I'll seal it...."

"No!"

"Draygo...."

"Leave it. For now. I'll seal it the morning, all right?"

"All right, all right. What's so special about a leak?"

"Nothing. Just....let's go to bed."

Troubled, Ron followed him out casting a glance back at the slow trickle. It dripped through the night, widening the puddle and with its steady drip

Drip

Drip

It marked the time and heralded the future.


End file.
